


I'm Walking on Air

by astudyinotters753



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Dean is abusive, Eventual Smut, Florist!Eggsy, Flowershop/tattoo artist AU, Fluff, M/M, Off screen domestic abuse, Roxy Is a Good Bro, Roxy/Eggsy shenanigans, Tattoo Artist! Harry, The Language of Flowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-09 14:26:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4352411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinotters753/pseuds/astudyinotters753
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy Unwin meets Harry Hart when he walks into his flower shop to request the most bizarre bouquet of flowers Eggsy's ever heard of.  Instantly entranced by the older man, Eggsy wants to know what kind of profession could drive Harry to make such a strange order, and ends up falling in love in the process.</p>
<p>AKA, a Tattoo Artist / Florist AU.  Previously known as "A Rose by Any Other Name."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Bouquet of Confusion

**Author's Note:**

> And I'm back, this time with a florist/tattoo artist AU! Shoutout to tumblr user persephoneggsy for graciously allowing me to use the name for the flower shop! They came up with it, and I thought it was so perfect, so thank you once again for your generosity!
> 
> Posting will likely be unpredictable, seeing as I can't ever make up my mind on how long I want my chapters to be. But please, bear with me! This is shaping up to be much longer than my last work, and I'd like my posts to be more substantial. Also, my beta is out of town on a wonderful holiday, so this hasn't really been beta'd. Thank you everyone for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

It’s a routine, if not slightly boring Tuesday the first time Eggsy opens the shop by himself.  He gets there early and whistles along with the birds as he waters the flowers and sweeps the fallen petals off the floor.  He takes his time checking on the flowers, his deft fingers easily plucking away stray weeds and dead bulbs.  He has extra yellow daisies in the back, and there’s always an abundance of baby’s breath and various greens he normally uses as fillers.

He ends up snipping a small handful of the daisies, bulking them out with odds and ends of other white and yellow flowers that would otherwise end up in the rubbish.  He surrounds the flowers with thin layers of baby’s breath and fern leaves, wraps all of the stems in green rubber bands, and places the arrangement in one of the shop’s spare vases that is filled with water and has a yellow ribbon tied in a bow around the neck.

Satisfied with his work, Eggsy loads the drawer into the cash register, ties on his shop apron, and opens the door to Persephone’s Garden five minutes before their scheduled open.  He receives no customers during the first hour he’s open, so he sprawls his books across the service counter, pulls up a chair, and balances his sales and purchases from the last week.

Roxy Morton walks into the shop at half past ten, and Eggsy squirts her with one of the various spray bottles scattered around the shop.  She shoves him affectionately, and slips behind the counter, pulling a pristine apron with the flower shop’s logo embroidered at the top out from underneath the cash register.  

“I thought you said you was gonna be late,” Eggsy says, reaching out to hold Roxy’s hair up as she ties the apron around her neck.

“I was late, Eggsy,” she replies, smoothing her hair down when her apron is secured.  She smiles fondly at him and then notices the flowers at the edge of the counter.  “I see you’ve been busy already,” she comments, reaching a hand out to straighten a drooping fern leaf.

Eggsy shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly and grins.  “I couldn’t help myself,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets.  “We had extra that weren’t gonna be used, and it’s Daisy’s birthday tomorrow.  Figured it’d be cause for a celebration.”

Roxy turns her smile towards Eggsy and rolls her eyes.  “You’re going to spoil her,” she chastises gently, crossing behind him to look at the books, eyes skimming over Eggsy’s nearly illegible scrawl.  “Please tell me you used a calculator this time.”

Eggsy smiles sheepishly and mumbles incoherently under his breath.

Roxy takes his actions as a loud “no”, huffs at him, and picks up the books with a slight frown marring her face.   “Well then, I’m going to go in the back and fix these.  You man the counter like you normally do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Eggsy mock salutes her, clicking his heels together as he stifles a snicker.

Roxy rolls her eyes and casually pecks a kiss to Eggsy’s cheek as she passes.  “I mean it,” she continues, slipping out of his line of sight.  “Mrs. Milverton is coming in today to pick up her daughter’s order, so you need to be on your best behavior.”

Eggsy freezes in his spot, his eyes widening as he hears the news.  He whispers expletives under his breath as he goes about cleaning off the counter, spraying the glass countertop and wiping the moisture time after time until every smudge is gone and the glass is shiny enough Eggsy can use it as a mirror.  More vile phrase escape him, and the more he talks, the more he finds his hands wandering to fiddle with things, so he ambles around the store and adjusts each of the small displays they have.  He straightens the posters on the wall, and wipes off the small table they use for consultations.  

When he finally completes his circuit and the shop looks pristine, he goes back to stand behind the counter, hands absentmindedly reaching for the spray bottle of cleaner and a rag so he can continue cleaning the spotless counter.  He is halfway through a slew of phrases so colorful, he’s sure would give a nun a heart attack when he realises he’s not alone.  Looking up from the counter to meet the most beautiful brown eyes he’s ever seen, Eggsy pauses mid ramble, feels his eyes widen to the size of tea saucers, and whispers once more, “Shit.”

The eyes belong to a man that is currently standing at the counter.  As Eggsy takes in the rest of him, it becomes undeniable to him that the rest of the man is just as gorgeous as his eyes.  He is wearing a pristine, grey pinstripe suit, a perfectly crisp white shirt, and a blue and pink striped tie knotted perfectly around his neck.  The very corners of his lips are turned up in a hint of a smile, and those brown eyes are sparkling with mirth behind sleek glasses.  “I’d like to order some flowers, please,” he says in a voice that reminds Eggsy of expensive whiskey.  “That is, if that’s all right by you.”

Eggsy feels his throat swallow a handful of times as he nods dumbly, hands groping under the counter for the ordering pad and a pencil.  “Yeah,” he mumbles, unable to tear his eyes away from the beautiful stranger long enough to see where he’s grabbing.  “That shouldn’t be a problem.  Yeah.”

“Very good,” the stranger says, reaching into his suit jacket to pull out a small, neatly folded piece of notepad paper.  “I’m looking for these four flowers, specifically.  I understand that some might be difficult, if not impossible to procure, and I am willing to wait.”  

He hands the list to Eggsy and waits in silence as he reads the words he had written.  He murmurs the names of the flowers- Geranium, purple roses, cherry blossoms, yellow lilies- and thinks about what these flowers are trying to say- stupidity and folly, love at first sight, fragility of human life and-

“I’m walking on air?” he says out loud, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.  

“I beg your pardon?” the stranger says, tilting his head to the side.

Eggsy looks up at the man from the paper in his hands and whistles low through his teeth.  “Are these for a bird, mate?” he asks, letting the paper fall from his hands to settle on the counter.  “Because if so, this is the most confusing bouquet of flowers I’ve ever seen.”

The man in front of him goes still, as if contemplating what Eggsy meant.  “I’m sorry,” he says after a moment.  “But I’m not quite sure what you mean.  How are the flowers confusing?”

Eggsy feels his jaw fall slightly open at the question, and it takes a large amount of self control not to gape openly at the stranger.  “Well, mate,” he manages after a moment, stuffing his hands back into his pockets.  “Every flower has a meaning.”

The stranger nods at him, silently waiting for him to continue.

“Er, well, that means that every bouquet is composed of several meanings from the different flowers.  And, to be honest, what you’re asking for makes no bloody sense.”

“And what is it,” the man begins, reaching a hand out to tap on the list, “that I’m asking for?”

Eggsy swallows thickly around the lump that has formed quickly in his throat and counts to five slowly before he replies.  “Well, the geraniums mean that someone’s stupid.  The purple roses mean that the giver loved the receiver on first sight.  When you combine the two, it could mean regret for that love, but then you add in the cherry blossoms which represent how fragile life is.  Those three make sense together, regretting a loved one’s death.  But then the yellow lillies, they mean-”

“I’m walking on air,” the stranger repeats, nodding again.  “Yes, I see now how they make everything confusing.  I do apologise, I was not taught the language of flowers as a young boy.”

Eggsy nods dumbly and tries his hardest to keep a blush from tinting his cheeks.  “Yeah, well, I grew up in it,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.  “Me mum owned this store ever since I can remember.  She’d take me in with her when I wasn’t at school, and I’d get to sit in the back and listen to her talk as she took care of the flowers.”

The man smiles at him.  “It sounds like you admire your mother very much,” he says.  “Does she happen to be in today?”

Eggsy shakes his head.  “Nah.  She handed over the keys to me not long after my little sister was born.  Says she wants to do right by Daisy, really be a mum this time.”

“Ah, so you’re the owner then?” the stranger asks, raising a single eyebrow in question.

“Yeah I am,” Eggsy says, meeting the man’s gaze with a smile, offering his hand to be shaken.  “Name’s Eggsy Unwin.”

The stranger takes his hand firmly and shakes it once.  “Charmed, Eggsy.  I am Harry Hart.”

Eggsy repeats Harry’s name a few times in his head and nods dumbly, his hand still holding on to Harry’s.  It takes a few moments for Eggsy to come back to himself, dropping Harry’s hand with a sharp intake of breath.  “So are they for a bird, then?” Eggsy babbles, trying not to wring his hands awkwardly in front of his torso.  “The flowers, I mean?”

The man shook his head.  “They are for a woman, yes,” he begins, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “but not in the way you’re thinking; it’s for a client of mine.”

Eggsy nods mindlessly again, fingers crinkling around the list.  “A client.  Right,” he repeated, dropping his gaze to his hands.  “Well, I’ll see what we have in the back and make some phone calls for the rest.  Do you wanna pay now or when you pick them up?”

“I can pay now,” Harry replies, pulling out a billfold from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, deft fingers pulling out just the right amount of bills.  

Eggsy collects them, puts them in the cash register, and hand-writes out Harry’s receipt with shaky fingers.  He smudges the ink a time or two on the paper, and when he hands it to Harry, the other man is offering him a pristine, white, likely pressed, handkerchief.

“For the ink on your hands,” Harry explains, taking the receipt, folding it perfectly in half before tucking it inside his billfold.  “Wouldn’t want you to stain your clothes.  Or the flowers,” he adds.

Eggsy feels his cheeks grow hot as he hastily wipes at the black smudges marring his skin.  The ink soaks into the cloth, and Eggsy inwardly curses as he realises that it will likely stain something horrible.  When his hands are mostly clean, he shoves the handkerchief back at Harry, a murmured apology falling from his lips.  

Harry just smiles at him as he tucks the now spotted cloth back into his pocket.  “It’s no trouble,” he assures him, his voice soft and gentle.  He pauses to check the time, fingers pulling a shiny, silver pocket watch from his trousers, his smile fading as he notes the time.  “I’m afraid I must be going.  I have a very important meeting I need to attend.  Shall I stop by again next week to pick up the order?”

“Y-yeah,” Eggsy stutters, blinking owlishly as Harry tucks his pocket watch away.  “You can come on Monday.  That should give me enough time to track down the cherry blossoms.”

“Excellent,” Harry says, nodding once at him.  He offers his hand once more to Eggsy and murmurs, “it was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Unwin.”

Eggsy grasps at Harry’s hand and does his best to prevent his brain from short-circuiting at Harry’s warmth.  “You as well, Mr. Hart,” he croaks, wincing as his voice breaks mid-sentence.  

Harry’s mouth turns up at the corners in an amused smirk, and then, he’s turning away from Eggsy and walking out the door.  Eggsy can’t help but stare slack-jawed as he goes, mesmerised by the whole encounter.  Unfortunately, he can’t spend any time ruminating on what just happened, for Mrs. Milverton strides through the door to Persephone’s Garden not ten minutes later, demanding the order for her daughter.  Sighing, Eggsy forces on his most charming smile and continues cursing the bitter old hag in his mind.


	2. A Bouquet for a Princess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's taken so long to update! Real life has gotten kinda crazy, and writing had to take a backseat to work and school. Hopefully I'll be able to update a lot more since I have a word quota to meet for camp NaNoWriMo, and I'm super behind!
> 
> As you may notice, this chapter has not been beta'd, as my benevolent beta is on holiday right now and has spotty wifi access. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

On Thursday after work, Eggsy goes home with the yellow daisy bouquet clutched carefully in his hands.  He barely has enough time to set the flowers down on a table before a very small body collides with his legs, and little hands with sharp nails are tugging at his trousers.  “Eggsy, up!” a small voice says, and then Eggsy is bending down to scoop up his sister, tickling her sides in the process.

“Happy birthday, Princess Daisy,” Eggsy coos, leaning in to place a smacking kiss to Daisy’s flushed, chubby cheeks.  She giggles loudly, her tiny hands gripping at the collar of his shirt, and Eggsy can’t help but laugh along with her.  “Did you have a good day?”

Daisy nods and grins, clapping her hands together joyfully.  “Gotta open lots of presents!” she replies, squirming so Eggsy will set her down.  As soon as her feet touch the floor, she takes off, dashing through the house as fast as her chubby legs will take her.  She returns a handful of moments later, clutching a pink, stuffed alpaca plush with one of her tiaras jammed on the head.  “Lookit, Eggsy!” she says, hugging the toy with a cheerful giggle.  “Pink!”

“It is pretty pink, innit?” he says, reaching out a hand to pat the top of the toy, fingers lingering on the soft fleece.  “And so soft, too.  Have you given him a name yet?”

“Mary!” she chants, turning round in circles.  “Mary, Mary, Mary!”

Eggsy pats her head fondly and turns to retrieve the flowers he brought home for you.  “I brought you something from the shop,” he says, grinning at her excitement.  “Can you tell me what color they are?”

Eggsy hands his sister the bouquet, and she drops the plush toy on the ground.  “Eggy!” she squeals, gripping the stems tight.  “It’s eggy color!”

Eggsy chuckles and bends to pick up the toy.  “That’s an interestin’ way to say ‘yellow’, Daisy.  But I guess it’s close enough,” he says, moving into the kitchen for a vase.  “Can you tell me what flowers those are?” he asks.

Daisy seems to take a moment to contemplate the yellow flowers in her hands.  “Me?” she asks, her voice quiet and eyebrows furrowed.  “Are they me flowers?”

“That’s right, Princess Daisy,” Eggsy confirms, holding out a hand for the flowers.  “They’re daisies, just like you.”  

Daisy gives him the flowers and watches in awe as he puts them back into a vase, fluffing the ferns and evening out the blossoms.  Just as he’s finishing, there’s a knock on their front door, and Daisy is running off to see who it is, her feet thudding against the carpet as she goes.

“Who is it?” Eggsy calls, turning to follow his sister.  He watches as the door opens and Roxy glides in, a large, pink gift bag in her hand.

“It’s me,” she says, a slightly exasperated smile on her face.  “I told you I was coming.  Did you forget again?”

Eggsy feels his cheeks heat up and he shrugs nonchalantly in a futile attempt to play it cool.  

Roxy laughs gently at him.  “You were thinking about that guy who came in the shop the other day, weren’t you?  Mr. tall, dark-haired, and handsome?”

Eggsy feels the heat crawl up his cheekbones to color the tips of his ears.  “Sorry,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze to a particularly interesting patch of carpet by his toes.

Roxy smirks at him before turning her attention to Daisy, handing her the bag overflowing with tissue paper.  “Here you go, Daisy,” she says, a grin overtaking her smirk as the toddler’s eyes widen comically at the sight of the package.  “Happy birthday.  Now why don’t we go see what your mum left for us in the fridge, yeah?” Roxy says, gently kicking the front door closed behind her.  

“Cake!” Daisy chants as she follows closely behind her.  “Cake, cake, cake!”

Roxy chuckles as she mozies into the kitchen, bending to open the fridge and peer inside.  There, on the middle shelf, is a very pink, very strawberry birthday cake, the swirled buttercream topped with four, evenly spaced candles around a lopsided, piped _Happy Birthday Daisy!_  “Where is your mum anyways?” Roxy asks out of the corner of her mouth.  “I thought she was going to be here.”

Eggsy huffs and crosses his arms.  “She was gonna be here, but Dean called her away for the night.  Something about a one night only deal for a mystery prize, or some shit like that,” he replies.

Roxy rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to the fridge.  “Well, I suppose we could have cake now and dinner later, if you’d like,” she says, pulling out the cake.  “Maybe if we ask nicely, Eggsy will even make us some tea.”

“Tea party?” Daisy asks, her eyes growing wide.  

Eggsy smiles and nods at her.  “Sure thing, Princess,” he confirms, turning to fill the kettle and turn it on.  “If that’s what you want.”

“Dress up!” she shrieks, pulling at Roxy’s trouser leg to get her attention.  “Dress up for the tea party!”

Laughing, Roxy allows herself to be led down the hallway back to Daisy’s bedroom, tossing an apologetic smile at Eggsy over her shoulder as she goes.  “Ok, Daisy,” she says as the door creaks shut behind them.  “Let’s get dressed for a party.”

Eggsy takes his time making the decaffeinated strawberry tea Daisy likes, pulling out the whole slightly chipped tea set they’d had ever since he could remember.  He adds milk to the milk jug, fills the sugar bowl, and has just added enough teabags to the pot when the kettle beeps at him, signaling that the water is hot enough for him to use.  He pours it over the teabags, stirs it a few times with a spoon, and then puts the top on the pot and leaves it to steep.  A few minutes later, Eggsy has tracked down one of Dean’s spare lighters and has everything ready to be carried down to their birthday tea party.

By the time Eggsy makes it back to Daisy’s room, the loaded wooden breakfast tray in his hands, Roxy has been given a pink feather boa, a glitter-covered pink tiara, and a purple tutu that Daisy has left to flutter over her shoulders.  He barely manages to stifle his laughter as he sets the tray down, drawing Daisy’s attention away from Roxy.  The next moment, what remains of his laughter is swallowed as his little sister squints her eyes decisively at him for a moment, her hands steepled comically under her chin, and then she is throwing various items at him demanding he “Dress up for the party, Eggsy!”

Much later, Michelle finally makes it home to find Eggsy, Roxy, and Daisy all passed out on the living room floor amongst a comfortable nest of couch cushions, pillows, and all the blankets they could find, the title screen to a Disney film flickering on their tiny television.  Smiling to herself, she turns off the lights, makes sure everyone is covered up and laid flat on the floor, and turns in for the night.

The next morning, Eggsy wakes just as the sun is coming up.  He carries Daisy as gently as he can to her bedroom, pulls the tiara from her head, and tucks her in with a gentle kiss to her forehead.  She stirs only slightly when he draws the covers up over her, but settles quickly, pulling the pink blanket up to mash under her chin.  When his sister is settled, Eggsy returns to the living room and scoops repeats the sequence, sans goodnight kiss, to Roxy, tucking her into his own bed instead.

He takes his time cleaning up for the day, and once he’s dressed, he slips out to take the tube to a flower supply shop halfway across London to pick up the cherry blossoms he’d ordered after Harry had left _Persephone’s Garden_ on Tuesday.  The tube is packed full of people, and Eggsy feels more like a sardine than a human.  The clerk in the shop is short with him, and tries to overcharge him for the three branches he’d ordered.  By the time Eggsy arrives at his own shop, he’s quarreled with the clerk and the manager on duty, been jostled a few times too many on the tube, and has almost crushed the delicate blossoms in a frantic leap to exit the tube carriage before it left his stop. 

He takes a breather and places the cherry blossom branches in the back of his shop before he goes about a rushed opening routine, barely getting the front door open at the scheduled time.  Just like normal, he has no customers for the first hour, so he takes his time to really think about Harry’s bouquet, figuring out how to arrange everything without it becoming too bulky or busy.  He finally finishes the order just before closing time, after working on it off and on throughout the day.  He closes up the shop and makes sure that all the flowers have enough water to last a day or two before heading home for the weekend. 

Roxy’s due in to handle the shop by herself on Saturdays, and Eggsy plans to stay home to take care of Daisy.  He fixes her lunch and dinner, takes her to the park, and sits her in front of a movie marathon before bed, every action an attempt to block out his thoughts about Harry.  Still, as he tucks her in and settles into his own bed not long after, he finds his thoughts drifting to Harry and his perfectly pressed, posh suit.

When Monday rolls around, Eggsy goes about his opening routine like normal.  If he takes extra care in picking the bouquet for the day, he’s sure nobody will notice.  When Roxy strolls in an hour and a half after opening, she looks him up and down, raises an eyebrow at his clothes, and disappears into the back to tend to book like she normally does in the mornings.  Suddenly self-conscious, Eggsy tries to catch his reflection in the clear, glass counter top.  He’s dressed in a clean, black polo with yellow trim around the collar and the edge of the sleeves and the best pair of blue jeans he owned.  The apron around his neck is also spotless, and with a slight grimace, he admits to himself that yeah, he dressed up in an attempt to impress Harry Hart.  Fighting back a blush, Eggsy wistfully hopes to himself that it will work.

Harry casually strolls through the shop just before closing time, this time dressed in a navy suit just as perfectly pressed as the last one, a slight smile on his face.  He offers his hand for Eggsy to shake as he says hello, and Eggsy loses himself for a moment at the sheer beauty of Harry’s hands before he’s able to stutter a reply. 

“You look nice today,” Eggsy finally manages, cringing at the way Harry’s grip temporarily slackens.

“Thank you,” Harry murmurs, his smile growing as he squeezes Eggsy’s hand gently.  “You also look nice today.”

Eggsy feels his cheeks color and beats a hasty retreat to the back room as soon as he’s told Harry he’s going to grab his order.  His chest heaves as he pulls air into his lungs, his thoughts racing despite his failed attempt to blank his mind.  After a minute, Roxy nudges his shoulder and points to Harry’s order, a slightly exasperated look on her face. 

“Come on, Eggsy,” she says, watching as he robotically leans forward and picks up Harry’s order.  “Get your head on straight.  And for god’s sake, wipe the goofy grin off of your face.”

“But Rox, Mum says my smile’s my best quality,” Eggsy retorts, smiling gratefully at her. 

Roxy rolls her eyes and nudges his shoulder again.  “It is when it’s not getting creepy.  Now get out there and give Mr. handsome his order.  Then you can moon over him as you close up the shop.”

Eggsy gaped at her for a moment, his brows furrowing.  “I don’t moon over him,” he protests, clutching the flowers a bit too tight.

Roxy just raises an eyebrow at him and shakes her head.

“I don’t!” Eggsy continues, “I ain’t never mooned over Harry before.”

“So his name is Harry?” Roxy asks, smirking at him.

Eggsy’s mouth tightens, his lips disappearing into two thin, colorless lines.

Roxy laughs good naturedly and turns him towards the door.  “Well then,” she whispers to him, squeezing his shoulders gently.  “Go and give _Harry_ his order before he demands a refund and badmouths us to all of his friends.”

Eggsy squeaks indignantly and stumbles back out behind the counter, a smidgen of pink still coloring his cheeks.  “Here’s your order,” he says, a touch too loud as he pushes the arrangement hastily at Harry. 

They’re both quiet for a moment as Harry steadily reaches out and wraps his elegant fingers around the wrapped stems, his gaze turning sharp as it roams the different layers of the bouquet, searching for any imperfections.

“I hope you like it,” Eggsy breaths after a moment, pulling in a quiet, shaky breath as Harry’s gaze slowly lifts from the bottom of the bouquet to meet his own eyes.

“It’s exquisite,” Harry says, a twinkle of satisfaction betraying his calm tone.  “Beautiful work, Eggsy.  I must admit, I’m quite impressed.”

“I’m glad you like it.  I was worried about it being too busy, since the flowers are all pretty big, so I put in some smaller ones too,” Eggsy rattles, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Since you weren’t concerned about any meanin’s, I just used whatever looked good.  I’m glad to hear it worked.”

Harry smiles at him, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling.  “Thank you very much for your hard work, Eggsy,” he says, reaching into his pocket with his free hand.  “I know my client will be very happy.”

“Thanks, mate,” Eggsy replies, wincing as he realizes what he said.  “Er, I mean, thank you, Mr. Hart.”

Harry chuckles lightly and pulls a few, folded bills from his pocket and presses them into Eggsy’s hand.  “Keep the change,” he deadpans, the corner of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly.

Eggsy gapes at the money for a moment, and then looks up at Harry.  “But bruv,” he breathes, his eyebrows furrowed.  “You’ve already paid.”

Harry nods once at him and winks.  “That’s for the excellent service,” he says, pausing to look Eggsy up and down once more.  “And for the beautiful work.”

Eggsy watches as Harry turns and leaves, strolling out as if he has all the time in the world.  He closes the shop on autopilot, locking the door and taking the cash drawer out of the register to store in the back.  He pauses for a moment on his way out, lingering by the daisies. 

“You doing okay, Romeo?” Roxy asks, sneaking beside him to snip a flower for her hair. 

“I think he called me beautiful,” he replies, breathily.  “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Roxy chuckles and tucks a second blossom behind Eggsy’s ear.  “Nah, you’ll be fine.  C’mon, we have a dinner date with my parents and I do not want to keep them waiting.”

Eggsy allows himself to be led out of the shop and floats along behind Roxy on the way to her house.  Later, when he gets home, he climbs into bed and attempts to remember what happened that night.  He closes his eyes and remembers the glint of Harry’s eyes, remembers the rich, gentle tone of his voice, remembers the way his hand felt clasped in his.  He won’t remember Roxy’s jokes or innocent teasing, he won’t remember Mrs. Morton laughing at the flower balanced precariously behind his ear, he won’t remember Daisy screeching and running to greet him when he arrived home.  He only remembers Harry, and as he drifts off to sleep, a content smile on his face, Eggsy decides that he’s ok with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daisy- innocence, purity, loyal love


	3. A Bouquet for a Bride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this chapter has not been beta'd, so any mistakes are all mine! 
> 
> Also, as you may have noticed, I've changed the description and updated the tags. Some of the things that happen in this chapter happen off screen, and other things can get pretty scary. Disclaimer now: Dean is not a nice guy. I mean it; he's really, really awful, even though he never comes on screen. While some of Eggsy's actions may be difficult to believe, they are based on real life urges and instincts.

A week and a half passes before Harry returns to the shop, dressed in a dark green suit, cream shirt, and olive tie.  Just like before, he sauntered up to the counter, a neat, hand-written list in his hand.  Roxy had smiled from her place behind the counter, asked him to please wait patiently, and then slipped back into their store room to push a rumpled Eggsy out front, throwing a store apron after him.

“Mr. Hart,” Eggsy says, hastily tying the apron strings around his neck in an attempt to cover up the various stains and water spots on his shirt.  “Welcome back.  What can I do for you?”

“I’m in need of a new bouquet this week,” Harry says, smoothly sliding the list across the counter.  “I do hope these are less confusing in their meanings.

Eggsy takes a moment to read over the list, tapping a finger against the counter.  “Yeah,” he murmurs, nodding his head.  “Yeah, now these make sense.  We’ve got them all, but give it a few days for the best blooms if you can.  I can have this done on Saturday morning, if that works for you.”

Harry smiles at him.  “That sounds lovely, thank you.  I needed them by Sunday afternoon, so that works out perfectly."

“Are these for another client?” Eggsy asks as he reaches underneath the counter for his receipt pad. 

“Yes they are,” Harry confirms, leaning gently against the counter, a relieved sign falling from his lips.  “For a bride.”

“Ah, that makes a lot of sense then,” Eggsy says as he writes, totaling up the cost for the blossoms he’ll need.  “A lot of those used to be associated with weddings.”

Harry nods absentmindedly as Eggsy slides him the invoice, taking a moment to note the differences in their handwriting.  While his own script is fluid and precise, each loop and curve perfectly formed, Eggsy’s lettering is distinctly rough, his letter forms peppered with inconsistency.  Even though it’s slightly difficult for Harry to make out each and every word, he cannot deny the strange appeal that Eggsy’s penmanship holds.

“So what is it that you do, Mr. Hart?” Eggsy asks, interrupting Harry’s thoughts.  “Working with confusing clients _and_ brides?  You a party planner or somethin’?”

Harry laughs, warm and carefree, and shakes his head.  “No,” he says, regaining his composure as he reaches into his trousers for his wallet.  “No, I’m afraid I’m not a party planner.  I do, however, own a shop a few streets down.”

“What kind of shop do you have?” Eggsy asks, placing his elbows on the counter to lean forward, a cheeky smile on his face.  “I bet someone like you could be a tailor.  You come in here dressed posh enough as it is.”

Harry just slides him the money for the flowers topped with a crisp, white business card.  “Why don’t you come by sometime and find out?” he says, throwing a wink in Eggsy’s direction.

“S-sure,” Eggsy stutters in reply, the apples of his cheeks beginning to flush with embarrassment as he watches Harry pulls out an actual pocket watch from his suit to check the time.

“Ah, I’m afraid I must be going,” Harry says as he straightens up, raising a hand to dust imaginary lint from the lapel of his jacket.  “I have an appointment in an hour, and I’m afraid I need to set up before my client arrives.”

“Ya know, you never said no to being a tailor,” Eggsy calls after him.

“Goodbye, Eggsy,” Harry says, waving a hand dismissively over his shoulder, the fond smile on his face evident through his pleasant tone.  “I’ll see you Saturday morning, eleven o’ clock, sharp.”

Eggsy can’t stop the pleased grin that spreads across his face as he processes Harry’s order, putting the cash into the register and writing up a second order ticket.  Roxy joins him a few minutes later, chuckling as he floats from display to display, his mister bottle half-full where it’s clutched in his hand. 

“Eggsy,” she says after a moment, drawing his attention.  “You’re _humming_.”

“Oh,” Eggsy breathes, turning to face his friend.  “Sorry, Rox.  I had no clue.”

Roxy just smiles and pockets the second order ticket.  “It’s ok, if a bit sickeningly cute.  How was Mr. Posh?  Charming as usual?”

Eggsy nods minutely, turning away to spritz another few blossoms with water.  “He placed another order.  For a bride this time.  This bouquet actually makes sense,” he answers, attempting to prevent the blush from spreading across his cheeks to color his neck and ears.  He fails.  “It’ll be pretty, too.”

Roxy makes a noise of approval as she grabs another mister bottle, making her way around the other side of the shop.  “Well, I’m glad you got to talk to him.  Hopefully he’ll become a regular customer.”

“Mmhhmm,” Eggsy hums, his attention waning.  “That would be great.”

“Indeed it would,” Roxy agrees, spritzing Eggsy with the water, causing him to jerk back in shock.  “Then you could ogle his arse every week!”

Eggsy just squawks indignantly and squirts her back, laughing as they quickly fall out into a flower mister water war.  By the time they lock up and Eggsy heads home, both he, Roxy, and every flower in their shop are soaked.  He shivers for the first time when he’s a few blocks away from home, and even as gooseflesh prickles across his exposed skin, he can’t regret the fun he’s had.

Unfortunately, Eggsy’s pleasant mood shatters as soon as he climbs the five flights of stairs to his apartment.  The door is barely cracked open, the lock extended as if someone had tried to close and then lock it very quickly, and he can hear Daisy wailing hysterically from her room down the hall.  He creeps inside slowly, heading straight to the kitchen to grab a knife.  It’s been ages since they were last robbed, but he’ll never forget walking in to see the whole place ransacked with some rather unsavory people running out their balcony door.

The living room and kitchen seem untouched, as does his own room.  Nearly everything looks like it had when he’d left it that morning, save for the toaster and a glass of half-drunk milk that sits on the counter, likely from his sister.  When he finally makes it to Daisy’s room after checking each room he passes, he freezes in the doorway and just stares.

His sister has gone mostly quiet, whimpering every now and then in fear.  He can’t see her immediately, but as he steps into the room, he hears a rustle from her closet and breathes a momentary sigh of relief.  “Daisy, it’s me, love,” he says, doing his best to keep his voice even and clear as he sets the knife down on her dresser.  “It’s Eggsy, and it’s safe to come out now.”

Daisy goes still for a moment, and then he hears her rustle again.  A few heartbeats later, the door to her closet opens a crack and wavers for a moment before the door slams open and Daisy is running at him, clutching at his legs and wiping her tear-streaked face against the rough material of his jeans.

“Shhh, Daisy, baby,” he says, bending down to hold her tight to her chest.  “It’s ok now, love,” he murmurs, rubbing soothing circles as evenly as he can on her back.  “It’s ok.  I’m here.  You’re safe, sweetheart.  You’re _safe_.”

“Eggsy,” she cries, her sobbing starting anew.  “Eggsy home.  Eggsy home.”

“That’s right, Princess,” he coos, pulling back to press a kiss against her head.  “Eggsy’s home.”

He holds her for what seems like hours, waiting until she eventually stops crying and slumps against his shoulder.  After a while, she pulls her head up and looks at him, her eyes red and puffy.  “Eggsy?” she says, her lower lip wobbling as she tries to suck in a heaving breath.  “What about Mummy?”

Eggsy feels his stomach drop and his blood run cold at his sister’s words.  “What do you mean, love?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing.  “What’s wrong with Mum?”

Tears well up in Daisy’s eyes again as she leans forward to bury her face in the crook of Eggsy’s neck.  “Da came by,” she whispers, her little hands fisting in Eggsy’s shirt.  “Mummy’s sleeping in the bathroom.”

“Daisy, I need to go check on Mum,” Eggsy says, carrying her back to her closet.  He sets her down inside and gets her settled before crouching down to her level, his hands resting on her shoulders.  “Can you be a brave girl for me?”

Daisy nods silently, her hands gripping tightly at her now-wrinkled skirts. 

“That’s my brave Princess,” Eggsy says, leaning in to kiss her chubby cheeks.  “I’m going to give you something to protect yourself.  You need to stay here in the closet and be quiet until I come back for you, ok?”

Daisy nods again and swings her arms slightly.

Eggsy wastes no time backing into her room to retrieve the knife he brought, handing it handle side to Daisy, his free hand guiding her fingers around the handle.  “You need to be really careful, love,” he says, doing a second check to make sure she won’t accidently slice her fingers while holding it.  “The knife is really sharp, and if you drop it, you could hurt yourself.  So hold tight, ok?  And if anyone comes and tries to hurt you, you can hurt them back.  Do you understand?”

“No trouble?” Daisy asks, her voice quiet as her grip tightens around the knife’s handle. 

“No trouble, sweetheart,” Eggsy confirms.  “You remember the safe word, yeah?”

Daisy is quiet for a moment, her face scrunching up in concentration.  “Oxfords?” she asks.

Eggsy nods and bends to press yet another kiss to her forehead.  “That’s perfect, Dais.  You remember the danger word?”

Daisy’s reply is immediate, “Brogues,” she whispers.

Eggsy nods again and stands up.  “That’s right, love.  I’m going to shut your door now, but when I come back, I’ll give you the safe word, ok?”

“Ok.  Oxfords,” Daisy murmurs, her head bobbing as she chants.  “Oxfords, oxfords, _oxfords_.”

“Love you, Princess Daisy.  I’ll be back soon,” Eggsy says, closing the door. 

As the lock clicks shut with a quiet snick, he hears his sister murmur, “love you too, Eggsy.”

Moving as quickly and quietly as he can, Eggsy creeps down the hallway to their shared bathroom.  Just like the front entrance, the door is slightly ajar, the extended lock preventing it from closing all the way.  Holding his breath, Eggsy carefully pushes the door open and listens for any rustling in the apartment that Dean would make if he was still there.

It’s quiet as he steps in, his shoes unnaturally loud as they clatter against the ripped, dirty linoleum.  The single light over the sink is flickering madly, and Eggsy can barely make out the form of a human body slumped unceremoniously on the floor. 

Swallowing thickly around the massive lump that’s formed in his throat, Eggsy takes a quick moment to wipe the sweat from his palms before stepping in to jerk the shower curtain away, revealing nothing but blessedly plain porcelain.  Turning back to the body on the floor, Eggsy sinks to his knees and shifts his mother into the recovery position, checking her neck and wrists for a pulse.  Her heartbeat is weak, but present, and once Eggsy is satisfied that she is breathing, he allows himself to take note of every surface injury he can see. 

“Mum?” he whispers, gently moving the hair back away from her face to reveal a black eye.  “Mum, can you hear me?”

Michelle stirs briefly beneath him, emitting a quiet whimper before attempting to curl in on herself.

“It’s ok, Mum.  It’s Eggsy.  We need to get you to the hospital,” he murmurs, stroking a hand down her arm. 

“Eggsy?” she manages to croak, coughing weakly.  “Where’s Daisy?  Where’s Dean?”

“Daisy is in the closet.  Dean’s cleared out for now.  Come on, I’m not sure when he’ll come back, but we need to move before then.  Can you stand?”

Weakly, Michelle attempts to sit up, sways dangerously, and leans back into her son’s lap with a pained groan.  “I don’t think so.  I’m seein’ spots.”

Sighing nervously, Eggsy gently slides an arm under his mother’s knees and guides her arms around his neck.  “We’ll figure it out,” he says, hooking his other arm under her shoulders.  “Hold on tight, I’m gonna stand up.”

Eggsy stands up as smoothly as he can, holding his mother tightly even as she groans and blanches in his arms.  Aside from the occasional grunt or whimper of pain, Michelle is silent as Eggsy carries her into Daisy’s room, gives her the safe word, and coaches her into her shoes while he calls a taxi.

Everything at the hospital passes in a blur.  Daisy starts crying when a nurse wheels Michelle away, and Eggsy is on the receiving end of a few dirty looks as he tries to calm her while simultaneously answering questions and trying to fill out Michelle’s paperwork.  Once everything is mostly settled, Eggsy takes Daisy, steps outside, and calls Roxy even though it’s half past two in the morning. 

Roxy, ever the saint, opens her front door before he can even knock, ushering him inside to wither under the concerned stares from both of her parents.  He slips off his shoes and pads down the hallway to settle a sleeping Daisy on the fold-away bed in Roxy’s room.  Returning to their sitting room, he slumps into a corner of their couch, leaning into Roxy when she sits beside him.  “She’s got a concussion,” he rasps, his voice tight in his throat.  “He hit her so hard she couldn’t even sit up, Rox.”

Roxy wraps an arm around him and squeezes his shoulders as he breaks down, salty tears welling at the corner of his eyes.  “It’s going to be ok, Eggsy,” she murmurs, laying her head on top of his.  “It may not look like it, but I promise that everything will be ok.”

“Yeah, but when, Rox?” Eggsy asks, wiping furiously at the tears that manage to spill down his cheeks.  “When my mum gets out of the hospital?”

Roxy is silent beside him, her stillness urging him to finish.

“Dean is still out there, running around with his mates, having a jolly good time while I-” his voice breaks and he takes a brief moment to swallow thickly around the ever-present tightness in his throat.  “While I-” he tries again, before falling silent, cradling his head in his hands. 

“While you what?” Roxy prompts, rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades. 

Eggsy just cries for a few minutes, silent tears running down his cheeks to pool in his palms.  “While I put Daisy in her closet with a knife,” he croaks after a moment, digging the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, “with a goddamn _knife,_ Rox, because I’m scared that fucker will come back and try and hurt _her_ next.”

Roxy freezes, her hand pulling away to hover over his shoulder blades.  “This can’t keep happening, Eggsy,” she whispers.  “And I know you know that.”

“Damn straight I do,” he confirms, nodding.  “I think I know where he is.  And I’m gonna go tell him he’s not fucking welcome in our house anymore.”

Roxy watches as Eggsy surges up from the couch, angrily muttering under his breath as he pulls his trainers on, tying the laces in rough bows before hunting around for his jacket.  “Do you think,” she says after a moment, catching Eggsy’s attention, “that it is wise to confront him now?”

Eggsy pauses mid-step and hangs his head.  “No,” he says after a moment, deflating like a popped balloon.  “He’s probably pissed out of his mind, which makes him even more violent.”

“Then why don’t you settle in, sleep a bit, and then confront him later when you’re at less risk?” Roxy suggests.

Eggsy takes a few measured breaths and then straightens his spine.  “Because, Rox,” he starts, forgoing the search for his jacket to head to the door.  “Because my Mum is delirious in a hospital _alone_ , Daisy is scared out of her mind, and I don’t feel safe knowing he could show up at the house at any time.”

Roxy nods once and reaches for the television remote.  “Consider calling the police?” she asks, mashing the power button with her thumb. 

Eggsy nods.  “I’ll consider it, Rox.  But either way, have an ice pack or five waiting for me when I get back,” he replies, opening the door and stepping out.  “Because I’m going to get my arse handed to me,” he whispers, more to himself than anyone else as the door shuts and locks behind him.  Then, with a labored breath, he stuffs his shaking hands into his pocket and heads to the _Black Prince_.

By the time Eggsy returns to work on Saturday morning, he’s sporting a scabbed over cut over his right eyebrow, a rainbow of colors decorating his swollen, bruised jaw, and his left arm is in a sling.  He barely finishes Harry’s arrangement in time, only having a spare hour before the man all but waltzes into the shop, the smile on his face fading when Roxy pushes Eggsy out front, his gaze zeroing in on the sling.

“What happened?” he asks, fingers reaching out to graze lightly along the sling’s strap.

“Fell down the stairs,” Eggsy says with a shrug of his uninjured shoulder.  He turns away from Harry to hide the grimace that threatened to take over his face. 

“Pardon my French,” Harry says, splaying his hand on the counter.  “But that’s bullshit.”

Eggsy whips around cringing at the twinge in his neck, and gapes at Harry.  “What did you say, mate?” he asks, dumbfounded.

“What I said,” Harry starts, leaning closer to Eggsy so that he can look in his eyes, “is that is the biggest pile of bullshit I’ve ever had the misfortune of hearing.”

Eggsy stutters nonsense syllables and turns red as Harry simply raises a single eyebrow at him, nonverbally challenging him to argue back.

“Who did this to you?” Harry asks once Eggsy has gone silent, his fingers tilting his chin up to roam over the multi-colored bruising marring the skin. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Eggsy mutters, slipping into the back to retrieve Harry’s order. 

“Doesn’t matter?” Harry asks when Eggsy returns, his hands balling into fists at his sides.  “Eggsy, you’ve been hurt.  By the look of the bruising, it’s at least three days old, maybe four.  That’s not from falling down some stairs.”

Eggsy clams up and thrusts the flowers at Harry, a frown on his face.  “Ok,” he concedes, meeting Harry'’ concerned gaze.  “It’s not from a fall.”

Harry takes the flowers and sets them aside on the counter, reaching over to brush the pad of his thumb over the scab cutting through Eggsy’s eyebrow.  “I do hope that you gave as good as you got,” he murmurs, letting his touch drift across Eggsy’s eyelid when his eyes flutter shut.

Eggsy smiles softly at the touch and leans into Harry’s hand.  “You should see the other guy,” he replies, opening his eyes when Harry pulls his hand away.

“I’m afraid I have to go now,” Harry says, pausing to clear his throat uncomfortably and pick up his flowers.  “But please, promise me that if whoever did this tries to hurt you again, you’ll do the smart thing and try to and avoid them.”

Eggsy’s jaw drops open in shock as Harry turns and walks out of his shop, his words ringing through his head.  “Since when is running away smart, bruv?” he murmurs to himself as he turns and slips back to the break room.  “It’s not like I can run away anyways.”

As he goes about his closing routine, Eggsy repeats his interactions with Harry over and over through his mind.  His body aches by the time he locks the door and turns to head towards home, every muscle screaming in protest.  That night, as he cleans the scab on his forehead, he thinks that he’s not quite sure what stings more; the cut that still sluggishly bleeds sometimes during the night, or the tone of Harry’s voice when he saw it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Orange Blossom- Fruitfulness, eternal love  
> Stephanotis- happiness in marriage, desire to travel  
> Forget me nots- true love, memories  
> Ivy leaves- Wedded love, fidelity, affection, friendship


	4. A Bouquet for the Ill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long to put out another chapter! I had to finish up with finals and then I had Kansas City ComicCon to go to this last weekend. Thank you, again, to all who have left kudos/commented on my story! I hope you all enjoy this next chapter.

The next day, Eggsy wakes up with a groan and makes his way to Persephone’s Garden.  The shop, while generally closed on Sundays, makes for a great place for him to think, create a plan, and assemble a bouquet to take down to the hospital.  His mother is still under careful watch, the doctors are still unsure if her concussion has cleared completely, and are worried about her cracked ribs.  

His thoughts race as he wanders around the back room, his eyes roaming over the plants they have in stock as he worries about whether or not Dean will eventually show up at the shop.  He plucks daffodils and peonies, green roses and aloe stems, baby’s breath and the purple fern he knows his mother loves.  He wraps them up in cellophane and ties a dark green ribbon around the stems, grabs one of their slightly chipped display vases, and then slips out to pay a visit to the hospital.

His mother is groggy but awake when he arrives, her mouth pulling into a tired smile when he walks in.  Eggsy fidgets with the flowers and the vase, having to slip down the hallway to fill it partway with water.  Once he gets everything settled and has thrown away the cellophane, he slumps into the visitors chair, and with a slightly strained smile, lays his hand over his mother’s.

Michelle’s eyes immediately narrow in Eggsy’s various injuries, lingering more on the sling still cradling his arm than the discolorations on his face.  “Oh Eggsy,” she breathes, a frown marring her face.  “Please tell me you didnt…”

Eggsy sighs and ducks his head.  “I had to do something, Mum,” he murmurs, squeezing her hand lightly.  “We have to do something.”

Michelle just closes her eyes and pulls her hand from under Eggsy’s.  “What can we do?” she asks, her voice quiet and broken.  “What can we do?”

Eggsy is still for a moment, allowing his eyes to drift back over to the flowers he brought.  It’s a beautiful arrangement, then again, nearly everything he puts together is lovely.  That’s the nature of flowers, he thinks, is to be lovely.  And even though he loves his arrangement and he loves his flowers, he never wants to have to see these four in a bouquet together again.  “We can kick him out,” he offers after a moment, cringing at the way his voice sounds too loud in the stale room.  

His mother shakes her head gently.  “We can’t kick him out,” she whispers, the knuckles of her hands turning white as her hands ball into fists.  “Eggsy, you know what he’d do if we tried-”

“Then we can call the police,” Eggsy interrupts, fidgeting on his chair.  “Or we can move.”

“No,” Michelle whispers, her face blanching.  “Eggsy, we can’t.  We can’t.”

“We can, Mum,” he counters, unhooking his sling so he can reach across the bed and cradle both of her hands in his.  “We can.  Roxy and I have balanced the book three times, Mum.  Three.  And we have enough saved up that we can move to a better part of town where he can’t hurt us anymore.”

Michelle goes still at Eggsy’s touch.  “Can we really?” she asks after a moment, her voice cracking, a pair of tears slipping silently down her face.

Eggsy nods fervently.  “We can, I promise.  Daisy and I have been staying at Roxy’s house since you got here, and we could probably have a new apartment picked out by the time you’re discharged in a few days,” he pauses to press a kiss to the back of each of his mother’s hands.  “I never want to come home to what happened on Wednesday ever again,” he whispers into her skin.  “And I never want to have to put together another bouquet like this one either.”

His mother goes silent and squeezes his hands gently.  “Okay,” she breathes after a few, long moments have passed.  “Okay.”

They continue to sit there for the better part of an hour, enjoying the silence as a sense of peace washes over them.  Eggsy watches as the nurses come in on their rounds and check his mother’s vitals.  One of them comments on how beautiful the flowers are, and another gently guides his arm back into his sling.  Eventually, his phone rings in his pocket, and he knows he needs to go back to take care of Daisy, so he rises from the stiff chair, kisses his mother’s forehead one more time, and makes his way back to the Morton’s residence.

By the time Eggsy has picked out a new place and sorted everything out, Daisy has become a right terror, and he’s sure they’ve overstayed their welcome at the Morton’s home.  He’s knows Roxy is working overtime as he scrambles around, babysitting when she shouldn’t have to so he can run back to his old apartment in the middle of the night to hastily pack what he can fit inside the ancient, tattered suitcases he found at a thrift shop down the road.  He knows he’s turning more and more into a prick with every passing hour, and yet, Roxy is still by his side, helping him keep pushing forward with far more grace than he deserves.

She smiles warmly at him every morning as he stumbles through their front door, dragging the suitcases behind him with tired staggering.  She hands him a cup of coffee and helps him move everything down the hall to be sorted properly into the correct boxes.  He falls asleep on her bed and she dutifully covers him up with a blanket and retrieves Daisy from her bed for breakfast.

Roxy ends up letting Eggsy sleep as long as she’s able, and takes Daisy in to the shop with her, bringing along a backpack full of things to help keep the toddler entertained.  She settles Daisy in the back room, moving the table they have as far away from the flowers as she can and starts her out with a puzzle.  They make it halfway through the lunch hour before Roxy hears the ding of their counter bell, quickly wiping a stray smear of applesauce from Daisy’s face before wiping off her own hands and popping out to greet the customer.

The warm smile that spreads across her face freezes awkwardly as the customer turns back to face her, and she meets Harry’s warm gaze.  “Hi,” she murmurs, breathlessly, internally cringing at how stupid she must sound.

“Hello,” Harry replies, the edges of his mouth curling into a friendly smile.  

“Eggsy’s not here,” Roxy blurts, an expression of mild horror contorting her expression as she babbles nonsense.

“That’s quite all right,” Harry offers, pulling another one of his lists from his pocket.  “I assume you can help me as well, yes?”

Not trusting her mouth to say what she wants it to, Roxy just nods enthusiastically and tries another smile.  Thankfully, this one came out as friendly.

“I’m afraid I have a bit of a short deadline for this bouquet,” Harry says, handing her the slightly crinkled list.  “By Thursday, if you can manage.  If not, then I’ll take what I can get.”

Roxy takes a moment to scan the list and then replies, “Of course.  We could even have it ready by today’s closing time, if you’d like it earlier.”

Harry shakes his head and his smile turns sad.  “Thursday will suffice, thank you,” he murmurs, silently pulling out his payment, offering the perfectly creased bills to Roxy.

She completes the rest of the transaction in silence,  relishing in the quiet wsssht of the papers as they rustle.  She hands Harry his receipt and watches as he turns to leave.  

“Please give my regards to Eggsy,” he says simply as he pockets the paper, hovering by the counter as if he’s not quite sure he can leave.

“I will,” Roxy replies, her eyes roving over Harry’s face, noting the way he doesn’t quite meet her eyes.  She’s not quite sure how to interpret the expression she catches on his face as he turns around and walks away, but she can’t help but think he looks a little sad.

Daisy eventually toddles out of the back room and tugs on the side of Roxy’s trousers.  “Snack time?” she asks, her lower lip quivering ever so slightly.

Roxy smiles down at her and reaches down to gently smooth back her hair.  “Sure thing,” she replies, smiling at her.  “Let’s go have a snack.”  

The rest of the day passes in a blur, with Daisy getting more antsy as time goes by.  Eggsy pops in the shop just before closing time to scoop her up and toss her in the air, an exhausted smile on her face.  “Come on, Princess,” he says, twisting so she can climb on his back, looping her tiny arms around his neck.  “I have a new castle I want to take you to.”

“New castle?” she asks, hands tugging at his shirt.  “Not the old one?”

“Nope,” Eggsy says, turning his head back to place a smacking kiss to his sister’s cheek.  “I’m going to show it to you first, and then we’re gonna surprise Mum, yeah?”

Daisy giggles and squeals into his ear.  “Let’s surprise Mum!” she repeats.  

Eggsy tosses a glance over his shoulder to gauge Roxy’s reaction, and grins when he sees the pleasantly surprised look on his face.

“Need an extra hand?” she asks, turning away to lock the front door.

“Nah,” Eggsy replies, adjusting his grip underneath Daisy’s knees.  “I got everything moved in and mostly settled while you were here.  If you want to come along and see it, you can.”

Roxy grins, steals the hat from Eggsy’s head, and goes about finishing her closing duties.  As they walk down the street, she chatters to Eggsy with a few interjections from Daisy about how their day went.  Eventually, she goes silent to let Daisy babble on about how her puzzle was a picture of the “dogs with funny faces” and how she loved how Roxy had cut the crust off of her sandwich at lunch.  

Before she knows it, Eggsy is herding them into a building and up a flight of stairs, chattering animatedly about the different features the new apartment offers.   They walk down a white hallway that still smells like wet paint, and pause before a door with a shiny, golden numbers denoting it apartment 18.  Eggsy fiddles a key into the lock and twists it, jiggling it a little as he turns the doorknob, and then, it opens, and he’s guiding her into his new home.

She’s a little stunned at just how different it is from the last place he lived, all clean lines, smooth countertops, and soft, plush carpet.  Eggsy sets Daisy down immediately and beams as she runs about and rolls around on the carpet, giggling and squealing with joy.  

“It’s nice, isn’t it, Dais?” Eggsy asks, his chest puffing a bit with pride.  “Better than the old castle?”

“Yeah,” Daisy agrees, a dreamy sigh falling from her mouth as her fingers drag on top of the cream carpet.  “Soft,” she murmurs.

“I’m glad you like it,” Eggsy says, sounding relieved as he putters into the kitchen to turn on their kettle.  “How about a cup of tea and then off to pick up Mum?”

Daisy nods and continues rolling around on the ground, laughing loudly when Roxy bends down to tickle her sides.  Fifteen minutes later, Eggsy is passing around milk and sugar and filling up three, chipped teacups with his favorite decaffeinated blend.  He helps his sister nurse her cup until all that’s left is bitter dregs.  

Roxy sips at her tea as Eggsy prattles on about new things he wants to get for the apartment and Daisy asks over and over for more tea.  She feels as if she should deliver Harry’s bland message from the shop, and yet, as she watches him gesticulate wildly, nearly sloshing tea all over his stained shirt, she wonders if he’s better off not knowing about Harry’s visit.  She worries her lip for a while as she remembers the exact flowers Harry had ordered, the look on his face, the hollowness that had sat behind his eyes.  Undoubtedly, Harry had done his homework before coming into Persephone’s Garden, and Roxy was sure that if she told Eggsy, he’d want to know what Harry ordered.  

Roxy is momentarily snapped out of her thoughts when Eggsy presses a chaste kiss to her cheek and tells her she’s welcome to stay until he gets back.  Then he’s dashing out the door with Daisy perched on his hip, and as the door closes behind Eggsy and his sister, Roxy sits herself down into the single, well-worn armchair in their sitting room.

She knows that Harry’s flowers are meant for one thing only, and that the particular meanings of the bouquet might destroy part of the happiness Eggsy has just recently found.  She’s seen Eggsy fight through misery and exhaustion for so long, and she doesn’t want to potentially dash his hopes too soon.  Sighing, she sets her lukewarm tea aside on a makeshift coaster, wraps her arms around her legs, and rests her head against her forearms.  

It’s an hour or so later when Eggsy comes back, carrying a sleeping Daisy and helping his mother through the door.  He gets everyone else settled in bed before returning to the living room to slump boneless beside the chair Roxy is perched in.  She argues back and forth with herself for a long time, the words she wonders if she should say resting on the back of her tongue.  Then Eggsy starts babbling again, raising a hand to scrub tiredly at his eyes, and Roxy realises he’s going on about how happy Harry makes him, how Harry gives him hope.

Eggsy eventually falls asleep, right there on the floor, and after rinsing out everyone’s teacups, Roxy lets herself out locking up the flat with the spare key Eggsy gave her.  For the rest of the night, the mental banter continues, even as she slides into bed sometime past midnight with a long, drained sigh.  Her eyes quickly droop shut and her mind eventually quiets, and as she drifts off to sleep, she realises that, with all of her uncertainty, she still hasn’t told Eggsy about Harry’s visit to the shop.

She ends up not being able to tell Eggsy much of everything, for the next time she sees him, he seems so light, as if his body is filled with helium instead of flesh and bone.  The bruising around his eye is healing nicely, even if it looks sickly blotched with various green and yellows.  She knows that he’s been sleeping better, that everyone has.  Daisy is back to shrieking with laughter and running about everywhere they go, and Michelle’s eyes look less haunted with every passing day.  They stop looking around every corner, and Eggsy always looks so proud, perpetually grinning and laughing and joking.  

So Roxy chooses to bite her lip and hold her words, hiding her concern behind layers of jokes and pranks and innumerable cups of tea.  She smothers her building anxiety by planting new plants, assembling bouquets, and continually mopping the back room.  It’s better this way, she tells herself as she assembles Harry’s bouquet after hours, alone with her thoughts in the shop.  It has to be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daffodil - rebirth, new beginnings  
> Peonies - good health  
> Green Roses - wishes for recovery of good health, get well soon  
> Aloe- Healing, protection, and affection


	5. A Bouquet of Mourning

Thursday morning, Eggsy walks with Roxy down to the shop. He’s only there for a moment, grabbing some random flowers before leaving Roxy to open Persephone’s Garden by herself with a kiss to her cheek. He knew he was a few days early, but he doubts his father will mind.

It’s always a bit of a journey out to the cemetery, and he makes his way through two different tube stations, before climbing up to the streets to duck into a small corner shop. He pops out a few moments later, a plastic bag clutched in his hands, and continues on his way, hailing a cab and riding until he reaches the entrance to the cemetery grounds, still a fifteen minute walk away from his father’s grave. He takes his time, ambling along the asphalt pathways, looking at the flowers as he goes. He counts five different colors of carnations, three different species of roses, and a handful of wildflower bouquets.

When Eggsy finally reaches his father’s grave, he bends down and lays the flowers he’d brought from the shop- a leftover display bouquet from a few days ago- over the metal plaque. Unlike most of Eggsy’s arrangements, this grouping of flowers don’t have a cohesive meaning. The language of flowers was alway his mother’s thing, the long-forgotten meanings passing over his father’s head no matter how many times he or his mum had reminded him.

“Hey, Da,” he murmurs, sinking to sit cross-legged on the ground. “I brought some flowers for you. I own the shop now, thought that maybe you’d be proud, or summat like that.” 

He pauses to clear his throat and a small smile quirks up the corners of his lips. “I, er, I’ve met someone,” he murmurs, the words barely audible to himself. “We’re not together or anything,” he continues, sighing wistfully, “but I want us to be.”

“He’s wonderful, Da,” he continues after a moment, feeling his cheeks prickle with the beginnings of a blush. “A true gentleman. Makes me wish you were here since I can’t talk to Mum about it, and poor Roxy has listened to me rattle on long enough.”

He pauses to lay back and stare up at the clouds. “I mean, we finally got Mum to leave Dean, but it took him nearly killin’ her to do it,” he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment to enjoy the slight breeze whispering across his skin. “I’m worried about Daisy though,” he admits. “I’m afraid he’s gonna come after her.”

Eggsy lays there for a few, long moments, enjoying the silence and the peace. His eyes flutter shut and he’s left alone with his thoughts until a nearby rustling draws his attention. Sitting up, he blinks owlishly as a figure appears a few headstones down, a plastic wrapped bouquet clutched in his hands. Eggsy watches as the figure seems to sag a bit, hair falling forward to obscure their face. The flowers are set reverently before a marble headstone, and Eggsy’s eyes widen as he recognizes the signature ribbon from Persephone’s Garden wrapped around the stems. 

The bright gladiolus catches his attention first, their cheerful pink bright against the dark plum of the chrysanthemum. From a distance, he struggles to see where the poppies end and the nasturtiums begin, both flowers red as blood. Furrowing his eyebrows, Eggsy wonders why he can’t remember this order, seeing as he usually sees every flower that passes through the shop. Huffing, he reaches for the plastic grocery sac next to him and pulls out one of the egg salad sandwiches he’s bought for lunch.

The action draws the attention of the other figure, and Eggsy freezes, his partially unwrapped sandwich halfway to his open mouth. Looking closer, he can’t help but feel that the other person seems familiar, and then the figure turns, their eyes catch, and Eggsy knows.   
He knows those eyes, filled with muted despair, staring at him from a few feet away. He knows the breadth of those shoulders, usually tall and sturdy, now hunched as if carrying the weight of the world. He knows the shape and feel of those hands, the usual smooth warmth replaced with dull clamminess and shaking fingers. The breath is stolen from Eggsy’s lungs as he knows that the sad, bewildered form a few headstones down from him is none other than Harry Hart.

“Harry?” Eggsy asks, swallowing thickly around his heavy tongue. 

The other man smiles tiredly and inclines his head in Eggsy’s direction. “Hello, Eggsy. I take it you're feeling better?”  
Awkwardly, Eggsy shuffles to his feet, the plastic bag dangling from his arm. “Ah, yeah,” he replies lamely, his eyes darting back and forth from Harry’s eyes to the flowers he’d brought. “Those for a friend?” he finally asks, gesturing to the bouquet.

Harry nods again and turns back to face the grave. “James Lancelot,” he says, his voice clear and crisp and steady despite his shaken demeanor. “Beloved father, husband, friend, and soldier. We met some thirty years ago when we were both merely boys.”  
Harry stands there for a while and stares at the headstone, eyes frozen over the dates, his lips wrapping around words his mouth refuses to speak. Silently, Eggsy walks the few paces over, digs out the second sandwich and shoves it in Harry’s general direction.   
“Lunch?” Eggsy offers, looking at Harry hopefully. “I hear egg salad cures all.”

The ends of Harry’s mouth curl up in a smile as his fingers wrap around the offering. “Thank you, Eggsy,” he says, deftly unwrapping the sandwich with ease, “that’s very kind of you to share.”

Eggsy just grins and takes a large bite of his own sandwich. “Yeah, well, I brought one for my Da,” he says after swallowing. “But he can’t really eat it now, can he?”

Harry chuckles and looks over to where Eggsy was sitting before. “No, I suppose he can’t,” he murmurs, eyes searching the ground for a plaque. “And it would be a terrible thing to waste.”

They eat their lunch in peace, Eggsy breaking the silence every now and then to tell an anecdote about his father. As the minutes pass, Harry finds himself laughing more and more freely, and by the time his sandwich is gone, he’s joined Eggsy on the ground.  
“It’s a beautiful day to visit the cemetery, yeah?” Eggsy asks after a while, laying back down to stare more at the clouds. “Nice and sunny for a change. I remember coming ‘ere last year. It was rainy and cold and Daisy slipped and fell into a mud puddle and cried for three hours.”

Harry nods along and chances a look up at the sky. “Has he been gone a long time then?” he asks, pausing to clear his throat and drop his gaze to the ground. “Your father, I mean?”

Eggsy nods. “He was killed ages ago, I was still just a baby, maybe three or so,” he replies, turning to watch Harry. “I don’t remember a lot, mostly just what mum tells me, but I always remember he loved flowers even though he hadn’t the foggiest what they all meant. Used to drive me mum up the wall, it did.”

Harry turns and catches Eggsy’s gaze, smiling as a blush blossoms slowly across Eggsy’s cheek bones. “James had a similar fascination with foreign languages,” he murmurs. “He usually had no clue what he was saying and got us in trouble with the locals when we were abroad, but he tried so hard to communicate.” Harry goes silent for a moment, pausing to pull a handkerchief out of his blazer pocket to mop at the sweat beading at his forehead. “Pardon me, Eggsy, but would you mind too terribly if I removed my jacket? It’s a bit hot for this many layers.”

“Go on ahead, mate,” Eggsy replies instantly. “Make yourself comfortable. I don’t mind.”

“He was killed on duty in Afghanistan,” Harry says as he shrugs off his blazer, taking care to fold it and place it behind him, just next to Eggsy’s head. “Served for twenty years and was due to come home in a few months. Then, he stumbled across an undetected IED and was blown nearly in two.”

Beside him, Eggsy cringes and winces in sympathy. “Sorry for your loss,” he murmurs, unsure of his words.

Harry smiles serenely and unbuttons his cuffs before laying back, resting his head on his folded jacket. “He saved a lot of people with his death, though,” he says, rolling up his sleeves. “The rest of his unit was spared, and were able to evacuate a village from a bombing raid. Over two hundred people are alive now because of James’s sacrifice, and I suppose that makes it easier to bear.”  
“He sounds like he was brave,” Eggsy comments, turning on his side to watch Harry.

“He was,” Harry replies, turning his head to meet Eggsy’s gaze. “Overly brash, too. If there was any sort of trouble to get in to, it was a good bet James knew about it or was actively involved.” He chuckles and scrubs a hand over his jaw and cheek. “James was always good for a laugh. Even now, I still can’t help but feel a little less alone when I remember all the mischief he got up to.”

Eggsy’s eyes track Harry’s hands as they rise and fall, gaze flickering from the clean, smooth lines of his fingers, to the ink-swirled patterns flowing up his arms. He’s never seen Harry in anything other than his perfectly pristine suits, every last button in it’s place. He knows now what a travesty it is for Harry to cover up his skin everyday, how much of a loss it is for Harry to deny the world access to the absolute art that decorates his body. The more he sees, the more Eggsy’s not sure he ever wants to see Harry in a suit again.

“Eggsy, my dear” Harry begins softly, attempting to regain the young man’s attention. “Are you all right?”

After a moment, Eggsy whistles low through his teeth and flicks his eyes back to Harry’s. “Yeah,” he murmurs breathlessly, fingertips rising to trace reverently around the lines swirling above Harry’s wrist. “I’m brilliant, actually.”

Harry smiles nervously at him and holds still as Eggsy’s fingers creep upward, tracing over the edge of a pond, the ripples in the water, finally resting over the sword held up in the middle of it all, a delicate, feminine hand curled around the hilt. “You seem surprised,” he says, eyes falling to focus on Eggsy’s touch. 

“That’s ‘cause I am,” Eggsy replies, sweeping his thumb over the crook in Harry’s elbow. “How often is a posh gentleman like you covered in tattoos? I ain't seen anything like this before.”

Harry is still under his hands as he continues to explore what exposed skin he can reach. On his other arm, Eggsy marvels at the chain of flowers that wrap around an anatomically correct heart. Darkly lettered words rise up to meet the brush of his fingers, and Eggsy has to stifle the urge to bend his head and press open-mouthed kisses to each line of ink. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. “God, Harry, you’re so beautiful.”

Harry freezes under him, his mouth falling open a bit at Eggsy’s words. “Oh my dear boy,” he whispers, raising his own hand to stroke across the ridge of Eggsy’s cheek, “I’m not nearly as beautiful as you are.”

Eggsy’s cheeks pink up as he leans into Harry’s touch. “Can I see more?” he asks, his voice slightly rough. “That tattoos, I mean. And you, of course.”

Harry’s mouth twists into a mischievous grin. “Of course, dear Eggsy,” he replies, guiding one of Eggsy’s hands upwards to place a kiss against his knuckles. “But first, you must allow me to buy you dinner.”  
“Dinner sounds great,” Eggsy breathes, leaning in as if to rest his forehead against Harry’s. “When are you available? Would tonight be-” 

The rest of Eggsy’s words are lost to the ringing of his phone. Pulling back sheepishly, Eggsy digs the mobile out of his jeans and answers the call. When he hangs up, he pockets the phone with a huff and makes his apologies to Harry. “I’m sorry, Mum’s having some trouble with Daisy, and I need to run home. Drop by the shop sometime this week, yeah?” he asks.  
“Of course,” Harry replies with a smile, his eyes falling to linger on the swell of Eggsy’s arse as he turns to run off. “I’ll come by when I don’t have any customers,” he mutters.

Down the road, Eggsy abruptly turns just before he disappears from sight, blows Harry a kiss, and winks cheekily at him. Harry feels his cheeks color at the gesture, and as Eggsy finally leaves the cemetery, he admits to himself that he wants desperately to know what a kiss from Eggsy would really be like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gladiolus- strength of character, faithfulness and honor, remembrance.   
> Chrysanthemums- mourning and death in the French culture.  
> Poppy- denotes fallen soldiers, represents sleep and death.  
> Nasturtium- the flower of heroes
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who has commented/left kudos/taken a few moments to read my work! I'm having a blast writing this, and I do hope you're all enjoying it. It might take me a while to get the next chapter out. I have a hartwin secret santa assignment to fill, all while moving house, finishing out my month at work, and dealing with my first week back to school! Thank you all in advance for your patience!


	6. A Bouquet of Hope

He thinks about his almost kiss with Harry for the rest of the night, floating through each of the tasks his mother asks him to do.  After Daisy has been put down for the night, he turns in himself, and spends the better part of a few hours staring at his ceiling, replaying the events of that afternoon over and over in his mind.  That night, Eggsy dreams about Harry, how his mouth feels against his own, how his hands feel on his flesh, and how Harry would look sprawled out in a bed with his hair sleep-mussed and wild.  When he wakes hours later to the grating sound of his alarm clock, he’s hard and dripping in his pants, and his skin is slicked with sweat.  Groaning, he hauls himself out of bed and drags himself down to the shower knowing full well he’s due at the shop in a half hour for inventory.

Roxy knows something is different the moment she walks through the doors to Persephone’s Garden, just before lunch with two sandwiches in hand.  She plops one down in front of a slumped over Eggsy and raises her eyebrow when he finally tilts his head up to say hi.  Pinned under her gaze, Roxy watches as Eggsy’s cheeks color, and try as she might, she cannot help the cheshire grin that pulls at her mouth.  “Did something happen?” she asks, unwrapping the paper from her sandwich.

Smiling softly, Eggsy nods and follows suit, taking a chunk out of his sandwich before Roxy can ask any more questions.  

“I knew it!” she says, reaching over to shove his shoulder.  “What happened?  Eggsy, did you meet someone at the cemetery?”

Eggsy nods and swallows thickly.  “I met Harry there.  It wasn’t planned, but sure enough, he was a few headstones down.  We talked about who we were visiting,” he pauses to worry his bottom lip for a moment.  “I saw the bouquet, Rox.  You didn’t have to keep it from me,” he adds.

The tips of Roxy’s ears color in embarrassment.  “Surely you understand why I did?” she asks, rubbing at the back of her neck.  “I wasn’t sure who the bouquet was for, and well, I didn’t want it to be for a fallen lover and wreck your hopes.”

Eggsy smiles and nudges his shoulder against hers.  “It’s ok, Rox.  Really.  It was for his best friend, anyways.”  He pauses and feels his own cheeks heat up as he remembers, for the umpteenth time, what else happened at the cemetery.

“Yeah, and what else?” she prods, taking a bite of her own sandwich.  “I know that look, Eggsy Unwin.  Something else happened at that cemetery, and you’re not telling me what it is!”

“Well,” he says, pausing to clear his throat, “I found out he has tattoos.”

Roxy drops her sandwich and gapes at Eggsy for a long moment.  “No way,” she murmurs under her breath, staring imploringly at Eggsy.  “No way.”

Eggsy nods and continues.  “From what I could see, his arms are covered.  And he hinted at having more, too.”

Roxy’s eyebrows shoot up, as if they’re trying to merge with her hairline.  “What do you mean by that?  ‘Hinted at having more?’”

Eggsy winks at her and takes another bite of his sandwich.  “I believe, dear Roxy,” he says, “that that’s for me to know, and you to hopefully never find out.”

“Eggsy, you dog,” she laughs, leaning over to shove his shoulder again.  “You really like Harry, don’t you?”

Eggsy’s smile turns small, and he nods seemingly to himself as he remembers how Harry’s kiss felt.  “Yeah, Rox.  Yeah I do.  And I think he even likes me back.”

“I’m happy for you,” Roxy offers, smiling warmly at him.  “You deserve something good.”

Her words don’t register in Eggsy’s mind, for once again, he’s back in the cemetery, trying to recreate the art in Harry’s skin, the specific tilt of his smile, the way the color of the bouquet’s ribbon matched his tie.  Smiling, Roxy lets Eggsy finish his sandwich in peace.

The rest of the week passes without much happening.  Eggsy makes some calls to order a few special flowers, and Harry never drops by the shop.  When they close up Persephone’s Garden halfway through Sunday, Eggsy is stuck with babysitting duty and soon finds himself at the local play park watching Daisy run back and forth from the slides to the swings.

She’s all smiles and laughter, even more so now that Dean has gone from their life.  And now, as Eggsy pushes her higher and higher in her swing, he can’t help but smile at how carefree she is, rosy cheeks pinched in an eternal smile.  It makes him proud to know he’s provided a safe place for her to grow up.

Down the road, a man stops and watches Eggsy play with Daisy, a small smile turning up the corners of his lips.  After a moment, he sees the girl wave her hands, stop the swing, and dart off to race towards a winding slide.  Eggsy takes a step back, and when the man is sure that Eggsy is alone and unpreoccupied, he approaches.

“Fine day for a stroll, isn’t it, my dear boy?” he asks, falling easily into place beside Eggsy.

“H-Harry?” Eggsy stutters, turning to stare at him.  “What are you doing here?”

Harry just smiles at Eggsy for a moment before turning to watch Daisy.  “I fancied a bit of a stroll.  My hop has been very busy this week, and I needed a spot of fresh air,” he replies, one of his hands brushing against Eggsy’s.  “It’s such a shame, too,” he continues, “I was so looking forward to a visit to your shop, but one of my partners took the floral sleeve i had booked a few weeks ago.”

“That’s rubbish luck, mate,” Eggsy comments, frowning as he sees Daisy eye the jungle-gym in the center of the play park.  “Did you steal away one of his customers, then?”

Harry shakes his head.  “No.  Merlin specializes in realistic greyscale while I work better with color,” he says.  “The client changed her mind from wanting color to wanting black and white for her tattoo.  Naturally, I suggested Merlin do the piece since he’s better suited for it.”

Eggsy nods and takes a half-step towards Daisy.  “I guess that makes sense,” he mumbles, his eyebrows furrowing.  “Nice of you to do what’s best for the customer, though.”

Harry smiles at the praise.  “Yes, well, at Kingsman, we pride ourselves in both exquisite art and customer service-”

“Hold on a tic,” Eggsy interrupts, dashing forwards towards the jungle-gym.  

Surprised, Harry stands still and watches as Daisy squirms a bit, her small hands struggling for purchase on a too-thick metal bar.  Eggsy runs forward, arms outstretched, and calls to his sister just as she loses her grip and falls with a startled cry.  Eggsy catches her and holds her tight, one broad hand rubbing soothing circles into her back as she cries.

“It’s ok, Daisy,” he croons, kissing the top of her golden head.  “I’ve got you.  You're safe.  I’ve caught you.”

After a few minutes, Daisy gradually goes quiet in her brother’s arms, and Eggsy slowly wanders back to Harry.  “Sorry about that,” he murmurs, shifting his hold on the girl.  “I didn’t want her to fall and get hurt.”

“that’s quite all right,” Harry murmurs, raising a hand to rest it on Eggsy’s shoulder.  “That was very brave of you.”

Eggsy shrugs and pats Daisy’s back.  “Ain't nothing brave about that, Harry,” he says.  “Couldn’t just let her break her legs.”

“You always surprise me, EGgsy,” Harry says, squeezing the younger man’s shoulder.

Eggsy quirks his head.  “How so?” he asks.

“Because you are brave and compassionate and chivalrous, yet you don’t believe that you are,” Harry replies softly.

Eggsy’s cheeks color as he attempts to stammer through a sentence.  Eventually, he gives up just as Daisy peeks her head up to stare at Harry.  “Eggsy?” she whispers, loud enough for everyone to hear.  “Who is this?”

“This, Princess, is Mr. Harry,” Eggsy answers.  “He’s one of our best customers at the shop.”

“Shop?” Daisy repeats, as if unsure.

Eggsy nods.  “Yeah, Dais.  Harry loves flowers, don’t you, Harry?” he says.

“Of course.  Your brother has been teaching me a lot about flowers.  It’s been fascinating,” he says, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

“Fas’natin’?” Daisy asks, scrunching up her face.  “Whazzat mean?”

“It means, Princess,” Eggsy begins, shifting her to rest against his other hip.  “That Mr. Harry likes flowers and wants to know more about them.”

“Just like me?” Daisy asks, gripping the fabric of Eggsy’s shirt.

“That’s right,” Eggsy confirms, spinning his sister around.   “Just like you!”

Daisy squeals and laughs, and Eggsy soon joins in with her as they twirl.  After a few rotations, Eggsy stops and sets Daisy down, turning to face Harry.  “So then,” he says, putting his hands on his hips.  “What now?”

“I have a suggestion, if you don’t mind,” Harry says.  “There’s a delightful little pastry shop a few blocks away, and a nature park not too far from there.  Why don’t we get a treat and then go look at the flowers?”

Daisy furrows her eyebrows and tugs at the sleeve of Harry’s suit jacket.  “Pastry?” she asks.

“It’s like cakes and danishes and stuff,” Eggsy answers, reaching for one of her hands.  

Daisy lights up and swings Eggsy’s hand while chanting, “strawberry cake!”

Eggsy chuckles and does a small dance with her.  “If they have it,” he says, grinning brightly at Harry.  “Come on, Mr. Harry.  I think you need to show us the way,” he adds with a cheeky wink.

Speechless, Harry sighs exasperatedly and begins his way down the road, muttering fondly under his breath as he goes.

They arrive at the nature park an hour later, their bag of various sweets safe in Harry’s hand.  It’s a lovely little clearing; mostly an ocean of grasses speckled with multi-colored wildflowers.

“Here we are,” Harry announces, gesturing stiffly to the space.  “It’s a touch more private than the play park, too.  So nobody will see when we get frosting on our faces.”

Daisy giggles and runs off to pluck as many wildflowers as she can carry in her small hands.  Eggsy just shakes his head fondly and sits down on the  grass.  “She might be a while,” he says, patting the empty space beside him.  “Sit with me while you still can?”

With a sigh of relief, Harry sheds his suit jacket, rolls his sleeves up, and sinks down beside Eggsy.    
“Hello, again,” Eggsy murmurs, smiling softly at Harry.

Harry returns his smile, his eyes crinkling with mirth.  “Hello yourself,” he replies, reaching over to rest his hand on top of Eggsy’s.  “Do you come here often?”

Eggsy laughs and shakes his head.  “You’re a smidge ridiculous,” he says, dropping his gaze to stare at their paired hands.  

Harry squeezes gently around Eggsy’s fingers.  “Yes, well, I suppose it keeps me interesting,” he deadpans.

“That it does,” Eggsy says, turning his hand up to lace his fingers with Harry’s.  “That it does.”

Daisy returns to them moments later, babbling loudly about the wildflowers she’s nearly crushed in her fists.  She stops abruptly before them, a few flower heads fluttering to the ground when she sees the tattoos covering Harry’s arms.  “Eggsy?” she asks, her eyes comically wide.  “Why are there pictures all over Mr. Harry’s arms?”

Harry chuckles and pushes his sleeves even higher.  “Would you like to have a closer look?” he asks, holding his arms out on display.  

Tentatively, Daisy takes a tiny step forward, her eyes still glued to Harry’s arms.

“It’s ok, Dais,” Eggsy says gently.  “You can come sito n a lap if you want.  I promise the pictures on Mr. Harry’s arms won’t hurt you.”

Daisy hovers for a moment, as if attempting to make up her mind.  Then, with a clench of her jaw, she boldly steps forward and plops herself in Harry’s lap.

Harry holds his breath and stares, surprised, at Eggsy.  “Well, I did say a lap,” Eggsy chuckles, reaching over to grab some of the flowers Daisy has dropped.  “What are you going to do with all these flowers, baby girl?” he asks her.

“Flower crowns,” Daisy replies, her voice soft.  

Eggsy grins at his sister and nods once.  “Sure thing, Princess.  I’ll start with these, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Daisy mumbles, turning her head to continue staring at the art on Harry’s arms.  “Flowers?” she says when she catches a glimpse of the various flowers and greenery trailing up the inside of Harry’s right arm.  Curious, she reaches over and grabs at his skin, doing her best to pull the limb closer.

“Those are roses, yes,” Harry murmurs to her, rotating his arm so that she can see the art better.  “They’re quite traditional in the type of art I do.”

Daisy turns her head quickly to stare wide-eyed at her brother, her hair whipping audibly against Harry’s shirt behind her.  “What do they mean, Eggy?” she asks, tapping her fingers gently against the tattoo.  “The roses?”

Taking a deep breath, Eggsy moves across from Harry, pressing their knees together.  “Well, let me take a look,” he says, dropping a finished flower crown on top of her head.  “Why don’t you chain some more flowers together for me, yeah?  I still need a crown, and I think Mr. Harry should have one, too.”

“Okay,” Daisy replies, starting in on her own pile of flowers, peeking out of the corner of her eye every so often to stare at Harry’s tattoos.

Hesitantly, Eggsy reaches over and cradles Harry’s arm in his hands.  “Well,” he begins, stroking a thumb over the petals of the flower, “red roses are usually a symbol of romantic love.”  Moving slowly, Eggsy’s fingers glide further up Harry’s arm.  “These here,” he says, pausing to circle a few, white blooms, “are zinnias.  Do you remember what those mean, Daisy?”

Daisy shakes her head and clenches her hands around the crooked chain of flowers in her lap.  

Eggsy licks his lips and looks up to catch Harry’s eyes.  “They have a different meaning for each flower,” he begins, pausing to stroke gently over the flowers’ centers.  “But the white ones, they mean that a person is good.”  

Eggsy continues telling Daisy about the flowers and their as he makes his way up Harry’s arms, his fingers stroking each of the petals and buds.  The zinnias shift to miniaturized magnolia blossoms, to the buttery yellow of the forsythia which intermingle with lavender heather.  Lily of the valley are tossed in here and there, along with other greenery and traditional filler flowers.  Finally, at the top above everything else, he sees a singular crocus bud.  

Eggsy’s nearly jerks his hands away when he realises that touching this flower makes Harry’s muscles tense under his fingertips, that the unmarked skin is still slightly red, that the colors are very solid and very bright.  Very slowly, Eggsy raises his eyes once more to Harry’s and stares open-jawed, for there’s no doubt in his mind that this tattoo is very much a new addition to the garden on Harry’s arm.  

“Eggsy,” Harry says, softly, brushing the backs of his fingers against the crook of Eggsy’s elbow.  “I think Daisy is asleep.”  

Pulling away quickly, Eggsy catches a glimpse of his sister, curled up serenely against Harry’s chest.  She’s drooling against his now-rumpled, white shirt, and she has two flower chains clutched loosely in her hands.  As gently as he can, he reaches and pulls them free, fixes them both into finished loops, and places one on his head and the other on Harry’s.  

Harry looks at him with wide eyes, his glasses slipping somewhat down his nose.  Eggsy just smiles warmly and moves to sit beside Harry, slinging his arm around his shoulders as he digs his mobile out of his pocket.  “Say cheese,” he murmurs, snapping a series of pictures.  Later, when he’ll review them, he’ll find just one picture of Harry smiling brightly at the camera; most of them will show him confused, slightly disgruntled, and surprised at Eggsy’s continued touch.

Sighing, Eggsy pockets his mobile again and looks at Daisy fondly for a moment.  “Well,” he murmurs, rising from the ground, “I ought to get her home.”

As gently as he can, Harry stands up and adjusts his grip on the sleeping toddler, attempting to not jostle her awake.  Thankfully, Daisy just sighs softly and nuzzles in further against his chest.  “Would you mind grabbing my jacket?  I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind the company,” he asks.

Smiling softly, Eggsy bends, scoops up Harry’s discarded jacket, and turns to stroll the few blocks home, with Harry by his side.  Quietly, he thinks more about the other tattoos buried under Harry’s skin and wonders when he’ll get a chance to ask about them.  

Eventually, they make it back, and Eggsy watches as Harry gently tips Daisy into bed, draws the blankets around her sleeping form, and lingers to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.  He then shuffles awkwardly around Eggsy in the hallway in his retreat to the front door.  

“You know,” Eggsy says, handing Harry back his jacket, “that’s not quite fair.”

Harry quirks an eyebrow at him and unrolls his sleeves.  “I beg your pardon?” he asks.

“It’s not fair,” Eggsy starts again, allowing his gaze to dart from Harry’s eyes down to his lips, then back up again, “that Daisy got a kiss from you before I did.”

Harry freezes half-way through shrugging on his jacket and stares at Eggsy.  “I believe I kissed your hand the last time we met,” he murmurs, stepping closer.

Eggsy grins.  “Yeah, but that doesn’t really count,” he says, reaching out to smooth one of Harry’s lapels.  “Ya know, I think you should make it up to me,” he breathes.

“And how would I do that?” Harry asks, placing his hands gingerly on Eggsy’s waist.  

“Well,” Eggsy murmurs, tilting his head slightly.  “You could always give me a real kiss.”

The corner of Harry’s lips quirks up for a moment before he’s leaning down and pressing a closed mouth kiss to the very corner of Eggsy’s mouth.  “Until next time, my darling Eggsy,” he breathes, lingering for a split second.  

Before Eggsy can wrap his mind around what has happened, Harry has slipped out the door and Daisy is stirring from her nap.  Absentmindedly, Eggsy flits through the house, and fires off a message to Roxy, asking her to pretty please deliver the bouquet for Harry tomorrow?  She replies an hour later with an affirmative answer, and leaves Eggsy to throw together a few, sloppy sandwiches for dinner.  

Halfway through his turkey and swiss sandwich, he closes his eyes and remembers how Harry’s seemingly new crocus tattoo felt under his fingertips.  Smiling softly to himself, he thinks about the nearly identical flowers peppered throughout tomorrow’s surprise delivery - ranunculus, tulips, hydrangea, and yes, crocus blooms.  Sighing to himself, Eggsy hopes with all that he can, that Harry likes his gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again, everyone! Just as before, it might be a while before chapter 7 comes out. I really need to crack down and get my Hartwin secret santa done, so look out for that in the next few days!
> 
> Thanks also, to my lovely beta, L. You is awesome. You is amazing. 
> 
> Magnolia - Nobility  
> Lily of the Valley - Sweetness; Return to Happiness; Humility; You've Made My Life Complete  
> Purple Heather - Admiration; Solitude  
> Forsythia - Anticipation  
> Ranunculus- radiant charm, you are attractive  
> Tulips- a declaration of love, a sign of perfect love  
> Hydrangea- heartfelt emotions  
> Crocus- from the greek “krokos” which means egg yolk; cheerfulness


	7. A Bouquet of Abandonment

The next day, Eggsy rises before his alarm even goes off, a smile cemented on his face as he goes about making breakfast for his family.  Daisy toddles in as he’s putting bacon in a frying pan.  “Good morning, Princess Daisy,” Eggsy says, bending down to press a kiss to each of her cheeks.  “Are you hungr

Sleepily, Daisy nods and yawns, raising a hand to rub at her eyes.  “Breakf’st?” she asks.

“That’s right, love,” Eggsy says, scooping Daisy up to balance her on his hip.  “Wakey wakey, it’s almost time for…”

“Eggsy and bakey!” Daisy giggles, clapping her hands together.  “Toast, too?”

"If you want toast, then sure,” Eggsy replies, flipping the bacon with a fork, smiling at the satisfying sizzle.

“Eggs, too!” she chants, “Eggs!  Eggs!  Eggs!”

“How do you want them, then?” Eggsy asks, turning to set Daisy down on a counter.  “Runny center, or light and fluffy?”

“Light and fluffy,” Daisy sing-songs, clapping her hands along with each syllable.  

“Light and fluffy it is,” Eggsy says, pulling a few eggs from the fridge along with a tub of butter.  Ten minutes later, Eggsy has Daisy settled at the breakfast bar with a heaping plate of eggs, bacon, and toast.  “Leave some for Mum, okay?” he says, bending to press a kiss to her forehead.

Daisy nods at him as he slips on his shoes and leaves their apartment.  “Bye-bye, Eggsy,” she calls.

“Bye, Princess,” he calls back, locking the door behind him as he leaves for the shop.  The weather is slightly dreary; overcast, yet warm.  Grinning to himself, Eggsy hums as he walks the few blocks from his apartment complex to Persephone’s Garden.  

He stops in his tracks when he sees a man hovering by the shop's front door.  From a distance, he looks grimy and haggard, his shirt slightly ripped and stained, his trousers caked with layers of mud.  Cautiously, Eggsy calls out to the man, “We don’t open for another hour, mate.”

The smile falls from Eggsy’s face as the man turns and leers at him.  “I know you ain’t open yet,” he replies, approaching Eggsy with a shark’s smile.  “I came to see you special.”

“Dean,” Eggsy breathes as the other man gets closer.  “W-what are you doin’ here?  You know you’re no wel-”

Eggsy’s words are cut off as Dean lurches forward and wraps one of his hands around Eggsy’s throat.  “I’m here,’ he starts, his voice sending shivers down Eggsy’s spine, “because you took something from me, boy.”  He pauses to squeeze around Eggsy’s throat, his grin widening as Eggsy’s hands fly up to claw at his hand.  “You took away my whore, and I intend to to get her back.”

Eggsy coughs out a breath and does his best to snarl at Dean.  “She ain’t a whore, Dean,” he growls.  “And she ain’t never going back to a worthless thug like you.”  Eggsy punctuates his words by spitting at Dean’s face, smirking when it makes Dean twitch in aggravation.

"You’re gonna pay for that, brat,” Dean growls, his grip around Eggsy’s throat tightening even more.  “You’re gonna pay for everything.”

A few hours later, Roxy finds him curled up in the foetal position on the front stoop of Persephone’s Garden.  He groans as she turns him over, his ribcage protesting with every breath.  “Dean,” he wheezes at her as she calls an ambulance.  “It was Dean.”  Then, he finally passes out and greets the darkness like an old friend.

Eggsy wakes three days later, screaming Dean’s name as nurses rush in when his vitals spike.  Roxy flows into the room as the nurses clear our, sinking down into the uncomfortable hospital chair, reaching to cradle Eggsy’s unbroken hand in her own.  “Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” she murmurs, stroking her thumb gently over his bruised knuckles.

“Hey, Rox,” he croaks, a pinched smile spreading across his face.  “You ain’t my Prince Charming, are ya?”

Roxy laughs, the nervous furrow in her brow softening at the joke.  “Nah, I’ll leave the charming to Harry,” she replies.  “He’s better at that than I am, anyways.”

“Fair ‘nough,” Eggsy says, his face suddenly turning serious.  “Hey Rox?  Where’s Mum and Daisy?”

“They’re safe at home,” Roxy replies.  “Dean has no clue where they are, or where you live now.  They are worried about you, though.”

“Me?  Nah, I’ll be fine,” Eggsy says, grinning.  “A few days rest, and I’ll be right as rain.”

Roxy raises an eyebrow and fixes him with a stern look.  “I’m going to disagree with you, bruv,” she says, squeezing his hand gently.  “Eggsy, you’ve been asleep for three days, your hand and wrist were broken, and Dean punctured your lung.”

Eggsy’s smile fades and he goes quiet.  After a moment, he murmurs, “But I’ll heal,” in a small voice.  

Roxy nods and sighs.  “Eggsy, I think you should consider pressing charges this time.”

She watches as the color slowly leaves Eggsy’s face, frowning when he turns away from her.  “I dunno, Rox,” he murmurs, his unbroken hand curling into a tense fist.  “I’m not sure the charges will stick; he knows too many people.”  He goes quiet for a moment, as if thinking.  “The last thing I want to do is make him and his goons mad.  Then I’ll just get a repeat of this.”

“Well,” Roxy begins, “they found his DNA under your fingernails and his blood on your skin.  The police have already been here, and they’re saying you have a real case for assault.  Maybe even attempted murder.”  She pauses until Eggsy turns back to look at her.  “he’ll go away for along time, Eggsy.  And even if he doesn’t, you can always get a restraining order.”

“Rox,” Eggsy sighs, “you know he won’t stay away, though.”

The grin that spread across Roxy’s face is terrifying, and makes Eggsy swallow around the lump in his throat.  “I’m counting on that,” she says.  “Breaking that restraining order will send him to jail.  No questions asked.

Eggsy sits there  in silence for a long moment, yawning periodically.  “Oh,” he murmurs, blinking owlishly at her.

Rising from her seat, Roxy bends to press a kiss to Eggsy’s forehead.  “I have to go, Eggsy.  The shop won’t run itself,” she says, making sure to grab her bag.  “Besides, I think you just got your next dose of morphine.  Just think on what I said, ok?”

“Ok,” Eggsy agrees, his eyes drooping.  “Hey, if you see Harry, would you give him my number?”

“Sure thing, Sleeping Beauty,” Roxy replies, winking at him.  “I’ll also let him know where to find you.”

Eggsy’s eyes flutter shut.  “You’re aces, Rox,” he mumbles, nuzzling back into his pillow.  “Absolutely the best.”  
    Back at the shop, Roxy puts up a “Help Wanted” sign in one of their windows and goes about filling orders.  Over the next week, she helps Eggsy talk to the police, runs the shop as best as she can, and hires a temporary worker to help run the shop.  Each day, she hopes that Harry will walk through the door, but he never does.

Every time she visits Eggsy at the hospital, he asks if Harry’s been in.  With every shake of her head, she watches Eggsy withdraw further into himself.  She knows he has dreams about him; she’s heard him mumble his name in his sleep too many times.  Midway through the second week, she wishes to every deity she can think of that Harry will somehow show up.  

Meanwhile, Harry is sat at a desk some 3,000 miles away.  Half-finished drawings litter his station, and a few pencils have been scattered across the wood.  Sighing, Harry finally shuts his sketchbook, pulls out a lined notebook, and begins writing his tenth letter to Eggsy since his departure from England, some eleven days prior.  

“Writing another letter, Hart?” a man calls from the doorway.  Harry doesn’t even spare him a glance, his hand gliding over the paper as he finishes his sentence.  

“You make it sound so trivial, Tristan,” Harry says with a flourish of his pen.  

“Isn’t it?” Tristan asks, nodding towards the paper.  “What is so important that you have to write a letter every single day?  I mean, the post doesn’t even go on Sundays; you do realise this, yes?”

With a huff, Harry sets his pen down and turns to face his friend.  “Why does it bother you so much, Tristan?  They’re just letters.”

Sighing, Tristan walks in to lean against Harry’s desk.  “That’s the thing.  Harry Hart is writing letters.  If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were hiding a wife from me.”

Harry rolls his eyes and turns back to his letter, the corners of his lips turning up at the melodic scratching of his pen nib against paper.  

“Wait, you didn’t get married without telling me, did you?” Tristan asks, gripping the desk hard.

“No, Tristan,” Harry huffs, “I did not get married.”

The room is quiet again for a while, filled only with the sound of Harry’s pen on paper.  “But there is a girl, isn’t there?” Tristan asks.

“No, Tristan,” Harry repeats, his pen strokes getting smaller.

It takes Tristan a few minutes to catch on, but the epiphany eventually comes, accompanied by a hard slap to Harry’s shoulder.  “Harry, you dog!” Tristan exclaims, shaking him side to side.  “I didn’t know you were bent!”

Harry grimaces and brushes the other man’s hand off.  “Yes, well, I generally don’t discuss my romantic partners with my business partners,” he murmurs, setting his pen down.  “But Eggsy is very special to me, and I’m afraid I can’t contact him any other way.”

Tristan just grins and raises a hand to squeeze at Harry’s shoulder.  “I hear you.  I won’t tease you about your romantic partner again,” he says, snickering.  “You said his name is Eggsy?  What a weird thing to call a person!”

Sighing heavily, Harry folds his letter, places it in an envelope, seals it up, and puts plenty of postage on the corner.  He exits the shop he’s helping out in and walks down the street to a post box.  “Here’s to hoping Kay makes a very speedy recovering, darling,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the envelope.  Then, he drops the letter in the post box, turns, and walks back to the shop to continue working on a customer’s sketch.      Another week passes; Harry is still in America, Roxy is still running the shop, and Eggsy is still in the hospital, withdrawing into himself more and more with each passing day.  Michelle and Daisy visit every afternoon, bringing a single, colorful blossom from the shop.  They talk about everything, each of Daisy’s visits to the park, the lunches that they eat, how Persephone’s Garden is doing.  They don’t talk about Harry.

After the twenty-fifth day of no contact between the two men, Harry packs his things and mails his twenty-fourth letter while Eggsy lays in his hospital bed, sobbing painfully into the now-squashed pillow they gave him.  “Why doesn’t he want me, Rox?” he asks, when Roxy arrives for her evening visit.  “I mean, he went from almost kissin’ me to fallin’ off the face of the planet.”

“I’m sure Harry has a good reason for his absence,” Roxy says, rubbing soothing circles into Eggsy’s back.  “And if he doesn’t, I’ll eviscerate him.”

“I don’t know anymore, Rox,” Eggsy sighs, plucking the daffodil Daisy had given him off of the side table.  “I’m just tired of waiting for him to show up.”

“I know, mate,” Roxy says, reaching over to pluck the flower from his hand.  “Is there anything I can do?”

Eggsy is quiet for a moment, raising a hand to rub at his eyes.  “Can you take some flowers over to Harry’s shop?” he asks.  

“Of course I can,” Roxy replies.  “And if I see him, I’ll kick his ass.”

Eggsy smiles briefly at her.  “That’d be something to see,” he says.  “But yeah, I’ll text you what needs to be in the bouquet later.”

“Ok,” Roxy says, bending to press a kiss to his cheek.  “I’ll focus on flowers, you focus on healing that lung.”

Eggsy coughs out something that sounds like an affirmative reply, and then she’s gone, fuming as she marches out of the hospital.  Later that night, she assembles the bouquet.  Per Eggsy’s instructions, she layers anemone, yellow carnations, and peonies before placing a single daffodil in the center.  “Eggsy, I really hope you know what you’re doing,” she says, sighing as she places the bouquet on the next day’s delivery pile.  

The following morning, Roxy calls Michelle in to watch the shop as she makes her deliveries.  She saves the last one for Harry’s tattoo shop, Kingsman.  Nearly kickin in the front door, Roxy storms in and is greeted by a stern looking bald man in a sweater.

“Welcome to Kingsman tattoo studio.  What can I do for you today?” he asks, crossing his arms when he sees the flowers in her hand.

“I have a delivery for Harry Hart,” Roxy snaps, raising an eyebrow at the man, as if daring him to challenge her.  

The man sighs and rubs a hand over his forehead.  “I’m afraid Harry isn’t here,” he says, placing his hands on the front desk.  “His flight isn’t due to arrive until late tonight.  But I’d be more than happy to place the flowers in his office.”

“Isn’t here?” Roxy asks, setting the flowers down with a thunk, the water inside the vase sloshing out.  “Where the hell has he been?”

The man raises an eyebrow at her.  “He’s been in America, filling in for his mentor,” he answers.  

Roxy’s eyebrows shoot towards her hairline.  “America?” she parrots, her voice tight.  “He’s been in bloody America?”

“Yes,” the man says.  “Why is this pertinent to you?”

Roxy sighs heavily and leans against the counter.  “Because I’ve been spending the better part of the last month dealing with a lovesick idiot of a friend while he recovers from a serious injury in the hospital,” she huffs.  “He’s heartbroken, and it’s all because Harry swanned off to bleeding America without so much as a goodbye.”

The man’s eyes light up with recognition.  “You must be Roxy,” he says, his gaze darting from her face to the flowers.  “From Persephone’s Garden.”

Roxy’s eyes widen at the statement.  “You know my name?” she asks.

The man nods.  “Harry talks about you and Eggsy all the time; it’s all I can do to get him to stop,” he replies, offering his hand to Roxy.  “My name is Merlin.  I’m the manager here.”  

“Charmed,” Roxy says, taking Merlin’s hand in her own and shaking it.  

“Harry stopped by your shop the day before he left, you know,” Merlin says, withdrawing his hand from hers.  “But he came back saying you were closed.  I advised him to write to the boy once he got to America.  I take it you haven’t received any letters?”

“That was the day Eggsy was attacked,” Roxy says her eyebrows furrowing.  “And no, we haven’t received any letters.  Do you really think he wrote?”

The corner of Merlin’s mouth tips up in a smile.  “Knowing Harry, he probably wrote every day,” he replies.  “However, I suppose only time will tell.  Shall I have him ring you up when he gets in tonight?”

Roxy shakes her head.  “Just make sure he gets the flowers tonight,” she says.  “And make sure he knows they’re from Eggsy.”

Merlin nods and picks up the flowers.  “I will.  Take care, Miss Roxy,” he calls after her.  

Roxy just smiles and waves over her shoulder as the door to Kingsman jingles behind her.  Making her way home, Roxy feels as if the world has been lifted from her shoulders.  She knows she’ll probably hear from Harry tomorrow, if not actually see him, and when she does, she’s going to give him hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the long delay. Hopefully the remaining chapters will come out a bit quicker! Special shout out to my beta, L, for kicking my ass repeatedly. Your hard work is always appreciated. Please, everyone, give them some love!
> 
> Also, thank you to everyone who's dropped a comment/review/kudos here. I'm blown away by your response, and I'm very grateful to have it! It looks like there's two chapters left, maybe three. And then, I'm not quite sure what will happen. If any of you have some ideas, feel free to drop them in my inbox.


	8. A Bouquet of Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guys. We're almost done. I can't even believe it; it feels like I just started this thing yesterday. And now there's just one chapter left.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who has been kind enough to leave me a comment and/or kudos. You help make the world a better place, and you're all beautiful for it.
> 
> Thank you again, L, for being the best beta ever. I am always indebted to you, and I promise that I will eventually write that thing I promised you ages ago.
> 
> Alas, before I start rambling again, enjoy chapter 8 of A Rose by Any Other Name!

When Harry returns home the next day, Merlin picks him up from London-Heathrow, hands him a cold coffee, and drives away without a word.  The silence grows and turns from peaceful to tense as Harry attempts to make small talk and Merlin doesn’t answer him.

Sighing, Harry turns and looks out the window, watching as the streets fly by.  “Is something the matter, Merlin?” he asks.

Merlin frowns at him.  “You received a delivery yesterday,” he says, his voice sharp.  “From Persephone’s Garden.”

Harry’s brows furrow in confusion.  “I didn’t order any before I left,” he comments.

Merlin fixes him with a withering look.  “I’m aware,” he drawls.

Harry is quiet for a long moment, his confusion growing as Merlin turns away from the street that leads to his home.  “Where are we going?” he asks, his hands reaching for the car door’s handle.

Merlin raises a single eyebrow at him as he locks the doors.  “To Kingsman,” he replies, as if that was the only logical reply.

Harry signs and deflates in his seat.  He’d been looking forwards to a nice, long, hot shower followed by thirteen hours or so of sleep before paying a visit to Eggsy’s shop the next morning.  His plans are soon changed when Merlin drops him off at his studio and drives away as soon as the car door has been latched shut.

The first thing he sees when he unlocks his office is the bouquet.  The flowers are fragrant and colorful, masterfully arranged as always.  As he gets closer and looks more carefully at the flowers, he sees the small, yellow card held against the vase by the store’s ribbon.  With shaky hands, Harry pulls the little card up, his breath catching in his chest at the two, seemingly innocent words typed there.  “I’m sorry,” he reads, his voice a whisper as the small card flutters to the ground.

It didn’t make sense; Merlin’s closed-off behavior, the flowers he didn’t order, the card.  Everything was strange, and Harry wanted an explanation.  Rubbing at his eyes, Harry checks his watch, gently grabs the flowers, and hurries down to Persephone’s Garden, praying that whomever is working isn’t on their lunch break.

The care-free smile on Roxy’s face falls when Harry walks through the door.  “Welcome to Persephone’s Garden,” she grates out, a saccharine smile cemented stiffly on her face.  “How can I help you today?”

Harry walks up to the counter and places the flower vase on the glass.  “I’m afraid I’m in need of a translation,” he says, tapping his fingers.  “You see, I’ve received some beautiful flowers from someone very special to me, but I haven’t the foggiest what he’s trying to say.”

Roxy’s eyebrows raise as she stares at Harry for a long moment.  “Would you like the long version?” she asks, reaching out to straighten a blossom that had fallen askew in transport.  “Or the sweetened condensed version?”

“Both,” Harry replies instantly.  “First, the meaning of each flower, then what the bouquet says as a whole, if you please.”

Roxy sighs and fixes Harry with a pinched, tired look.  “You’re absolutely sure you want to know?” she asks.  “You may not like what I’m going to say.”

“One hundred percent positive,” Harry replies.  “I’m sure I can handle what Eggsy is trying to say.”

Roxy nods once and turns the bouquet as she speaks, fingers tracing over soft petals.  “This one is the anemone flower,” she explains, stopping on a dark blue flower.  “It’s generally used when the sender wishes to convey fading home or a feeling of being forsaken.”  Roxy pauses to straighten one of the yellow carnations.  “I take it you’re familiar with these, yes?”

Harry nods, clearing his throat uncomfortably.  “I know it’s a carnation” he replies, “but as for what it stands for, I’m afraid I’m rather clueless.”

“Disdain,” Roxy deadpans.  “Also a feeling of rejection.  Or disappointment.  Knowing Eggsy, likely all three.”  She moves on then to the large, layered peony blooms and murmurs their name.  Harry pales.

“These can be used to indicate a wish of good health to the recipient, but I think Eggsy meant for them to indicate bashfulness,” she spits, her fingers rough as they try and smooth a folded petal.  “And shame.”

Harry feels his cheeks color and burn in embarrassment.  With an unsure grip, he shakily pulls the single daffodil from the center.  “And this one?” he croaks.

Roxy all but sneers at him as she watches him worry the stem between his thumb and forefinger.  “One possible translation is misfortune,” she replies.  “But I know Eggsy intended the other meaning.”  She pauses to watch as Harry rapidly looks as if he’s going to be sick everywhere.

“And that is?” he gasps.

Roxy glowers at him and shakes her head.  “Unrequited love,” she says.

Harry drops the daffodil.

“The short version,” Roxy adds, reaching out to snatch the flower from the counter, easing it back into the bouquet.  “Is that Eggsy feels embarrassed and thinks you don’t want him anymore.”

Harry gapes at her for a long moment, his eyes appearing lost.  “That couldn’t be farther from the truth,” he babbles, leaning heavily against the store counter.  “I tried to tell him where I was going, but the shop was closed,” he continues, dropping his gaze to the ribbon around the vase.  “I wrote him.  Every day.  Did he not get my letters?”

Roxy sighs heavily and shakes her head.  “The first one arrived just before you did,” she answers, pulling Harry’s letter up from under the counter.  “But I haven’t been able to deliver it yet today; Eggsy’s still in surgery.”

Harry looks at her hopelessly for a moment, as her words sink in.  He feels his stomach drop as he processes her last four words.  “Surgery?” he whispers, his hands balling into fists, his knuckles turning white.  “Roxy, what happened while I was away?”

Roxy crosses her arms.  “Eggy was attached,” she says even, as if she rehearsed the line.  “The day you left for America, his mother’s ex came early to the shop and waited for him.”

Harry’s knees nearly give out under him.  “Attacked,” he repeats, staring off into space.  “Who found him?”

“I did,” Roxy managed after a moment.  “It was a few hours later, but he was in really rough condition.  I called an ambulance and then he passed out.”

“His injuries were that bad” Harry asks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Roxy frowns again.  “Broken wrist and hand.  Concussion.  Dislocated shoulder.  Broken ribs.  Punctured lungs.  Various scrapes, bruises, and lacerations,” she rattles off, counting each injury on her fingers.  “They’re taking the plate out of his arm today before calcium builds up over it.  He’s due out of surgery in an hour or two, but I have to wait until after the shop closes to go and visit.”

Running a hand through his hair, Harry nods.  “I should be there when he wakes up,” he says, just loudly enough for Roxy to hear.  “I need to make things right.  But how?”

“Hold tight for a minute,” Roxy says, fixing him with yet another stern look.  She disappears into the back room for a long moment, re-emerging with a large sign.  She crosses the shop floor, closes the door, and hangs the sign in the window before turning back.  “You’re going to take him flowers,” she orders, fisting a hand into the side of Harry’s bespoke suit as she passes, dragging him back behind her.  “You’re going to pick them out, and they’re going to mean something damn well special.  Are we clear?”

Harry wisely chooses to answer Roxy with only a nod of his head.  

The smile that spreads across Roxy’s face is equal parts reassuring and terrifying.  She unceremoniously shoves Harry into their stock area, crosses her arms, and waits for him to make his first move.

Harry takes a while to just look at all the different flowers, his eyes hunting for the scant few species he recognises.  After a few excruciatingly long minutes, Harry strides forwards and pulls a few of the lavender colored roses from a corner.    
Love at first sight,” he murmurs, raising one of the blooms to sniff it delicately.  “Enchantment.  This was in the first bouquet I ever purchased form here.”

Roxy steps forward and takes the stems from him.  “All right,” she says, laying them aside.  “What next?”

As he did before, Harry took what felt like a millenia staring at the flowers before finally stepping forward to pull handfuls of forget-me-nots and gladiolus blooms.  Silently, he hands them to Roxy and continues, walking around the stock room again to make sure he’s picked the perfect flowers.

A few minutes later, he returns, a dozen of perfect, red tulips held reverently in his hands.  Roxy takes one look at all the flowers Harry has chosen and raises an eyebrow at him.  “Do you have any idea what you’re saying with these?” she asks.

Solemnly, Harry nods.  “I’m making Eggsy a promise,” he says evenly.  “However, I’m missing one more.  I want to ask Eggsy if we can start over; if he’ll forgive all the hurt I’ve caused.”

Roxy nods and reaches over to pluck a handful of daffodils, adding them to the bunch.  “These are what you need,” she says, carrying everything to the work counter.

“I thought they meant misfortune,” Harry says, his voice tipping up at the end.  “Unrequited love.”

Roxy shrugs her shoulders.  “They do,” she says, adding some greens as a base to the arrangement, “and they don’t.  A single daffodil has a negative meaning while multiple daffodils stand for new beginnings,” she explains, adding more flowers to the arrangement, cocking her head every so often in contemplation.

A few, silent minutes later, Roxy hands him the finished bouquet and gives him one last hard look.  “Don’t get too used to this,” she says, her voice taking on a dangerous edge.  “Hurt him again, and nobody will find your body.”

Harry swallows nervously and nods, his sweaty hands clutching the vase to his chest.  “I won’t,” he says.  “You have my word.”

Roxy smiles genuinely at him and hands him a folded piece of paper.  “Then go and fix things, Harry Hart,” she says.  “This is the address of the hospital he’s at.”

“Thank you,” Harry says.  “If there’s anything I can do to repay you, simply say it.”

Roxy grins at him as if she’s a cat who just got the cream.  “Kiss him,” she says.

Harry gapes gracelessly at her for a moment.  “I beg your pardon?” he asks.

Roxy chuckles and pushes him towards the door.  “I said it simply, didn’t I?  Kiss him, Harry,” she repeats.  “And make it a good one, yeah?”

Harry continues to splutter as Roxy shows him out of the shop, the vase sloshing water on his already crumpled shirt.  The door closes and locks behind him, and then he’s standing in the middle of a busy street corner looking for all intents and purposes as if his brain has melted out of his ears.  He finally starts moving after he’s jostled by a bristly old lady muttering half-muted curses under her breath as she digs her cane painfully into his toes.  Three blocks down, Harry has to stop and turn around, as he’s gone the wrong way in his Roxy-induced stupor.

It takes Harry the better part of an hour to reach the hospital.  He calmly asks the front nurse’s station for Eggsy’s room, only to receive confused glances and rude stares.  “I’m sorry, sir,” one of the nurses says condescendingly, reaching out to pat the back of Harry’s free hand.  “But there’s no one here by that name.”

Sighing, Harry sinks into one of the plush armchairs in the waiting room and stares at the flowers he’d picked for Eggsy.  He had wanted to see his smile at least one more time before he either lost him completely or, by some miracle, fixed things.  None of it seemed to matter though, as Harry was convinced the damage had already been done.

“Mr. ‘Arry?” a sweet voice asks, pulling him from his thoughts.  “It is you, Mr. Harry!”

The next moment, Harry finds himself attempting to balance both Eggsy’s flowers and his giggling sister.

“Daisy!” a woman exclaims, rushing down the hall toward her daughter, an exasperated look contorting her face.  “What have I told you about running off and talking to strangers?” she asks, her eyes widening as she sees Daisy perched comfortably on Harry’s lap.

“You said not to,” Daisy replies, shrinking back against Harry, raising a hand to her mouth to chew on her thumb nail.  

“Then why on earth did you?” her mother scolds, placing her hands on her shoulders.  

Daisy squirms in his lap.  “But Mum, this is Mr. Harry,” she says, as if everyone should know him.  “And he ain’t no stranger.”

Still flustered, the woman gawps at Harry for a moment, her words seeming frozen on her tongue.

“Good afternoon, madam,” Harry says, smiling assuringly at the woman.  “My name is Harry Hart.  I’m a friend of Eggsy’s.”

The woman nods.  “Michelle Unwin,” she responds.  “I’m Eggsy’s mother.  I’m sorry about this one,” she continues, reaching out to grab Daisy and hold her close.  “She likes to get into trouble.  Just like her big brother.”

“It’s quite all right,” Harry says, standing from his seat.  “I’m rather fond of Miss Daisy here.”

“But not as fond as he is of Eggsy!” Daisy chimes in, grinning widely at her mother.

Michelle smiles awkwardly and takes a minute to really look over Harry, her eyes zeroing in on his flowers.  “Yes, it would seem so,” she murmurs.  “Come on, Eggsy’s room is down the hall .  He’s not awake yet, but you’re more than welcome to wait with us.”

Harry nods and follows Michelle to Eggsy’s room, taking a moment to smooth over his wrinkled, askew suit before stepping through the door.  His breath catches uncomfortably in his throat at the sight of Eggsy asleep in the hospital bed.  What flesh he can see is pale and splotched with bruises; the blues, purples, and muddy browns bleeding together like watercolors on his nearly transparent skin.

“Oh, Eggsy,” he says, setting the flowers down on one of the various tables scattered around the room.  “I should have been here,” he murmurs, reaching out to gingerly cradle one of the boy’s hands in his own.

Michelle sets Daisy down and sits in the other chair, crossing her arms.  “It’s not your fault,” she says evenly, watching as Harry bends to brush a tender kiss to Eggsy’s healing knuckles.

“I may not be the reason he’s in this hospital bed,” Harry says gravely, hanging his head.  “But I have hurt him all the same.”

“So you’re that Harry,” she says, pursing her lips.

Sighing, Harry nods and turns to face Michelle.  “I’m hoping I can fix things with your son,” he admits.

In his bed, Eggsy’s eyes flutter as his heat rate starts to raise.

Michelle raises an eyebrow and stares at Harry.  “Why did you leave?” she asks.

Harry takes a deep breath, runs a hand through his unusually unruly hair, and proceeds to tell Michelle about his trip to America.  When he’s finished, Michelle takes a quick look at her son before herding Daisy out for tea.

As soon as the door shuts, Harry turns back to Eggsy and drops another kiss to his knuckles, causing Eggsy’s hand to twitch in his own.  “Eggsy?” he breathes shakily.

Slowly, the boy opens his eyes and grins dazedly at Harry.  “Am I dreaming?” he croaks.

“No, darling,” Harry replies.  “You’re very much awake.”

Eggsy yawns.  “I just dreamed you had a heart to heart with Mum,” he mumbles.  “It was weird.  You said you was in America.”

Harry nods.  “You were awake then, too, darling,” he murmurs, stroking over the back of Eggsy’s hand gently, as if his skin will rip if he’s too harsh.  “It’s all true; I was in America, but I wrote you every day.  The letters didn’t arrive as punctually as I’d hoped, but they’re coming.  In fact, Roxy has the first one.  She said she’d deliver it later after she closes up,” he rambles, catching himself.

“So you’re really here then, Harry?” Eggsy asks, clutching at Harry’s hands.  “It’s real this time?”

“Oh, darling,” Harry whispers, squeezing Eggsy’s hand gently.  “Of course it’s real.  I’m real.”

A few tears well in the corner of Eggsy’s eyes as he stares in disbelief at Harry.  “I kept dreaming,” he manages to croak out, clearing his throat as he turns his head away from Harry, “every night that you would come.  You’d always sit in the chair and tell me how much you care for me.  But then I’d wake up and you’d be gone.”

Harry colors slightly and hangs his head.  “I wanted to be here every night I wasn’t,” he says.  “I hated having to go.”

They fall into silence for a while, lulled into a near trance by the steady beeping of Eggsy’s heart monitor.  After a few minutes, Eggsy notices the flowers.  “When did those get here?” he asks, furrowing his brows.  “Did Roxy bring those while I was in surgery?”

“No, I brought them,” Harry replies, pausing for a moment.  “Do you like them?” he asks hesitantly.

Eggsy is speechless as he stares at the arrangement, reading the beauty of Harry’s intentions with each perfect bloom.  “This is still real, yeah?” he asks, his voice cracking.  “I’m still awake?”

“Yes, my dear boy.  You’re still awake,” Harry affirms.

“Pinch me, then,” Eggsy says, holding his bruised arm out for Harry.  “Since I can’t do it myself.”

Harry chuckles at him and allows a rare smile to spread across his face.  “Oh, darling,” he murmurs, guiding Eggsy’s arm back down.  “I can do something better.”

Eggsy doesn’t have time to ask what Harry is going to do before the other man is leaning close, one of his hands rising to cup Eggsy’s cheek as he brings their faces a hairsbreadth apart.  A split second passes, Harry’s thumb tracing reverently over the ridge of Eggsy’s cheekbone as their breath mingles, and then Harry’s closing the gap and pressing their lips together.

Harry’s lips are warm and slightly chapped pressed against his, perfectly slick and firm.  Harry tilts his head just slightly, his hand holding Eggsy’s head just so, and then the angle goes from wonderful to perfect, and Eggsy’s ability to form complete sentences disappears.  All at once it’s too overwhelming and not enough and too perfect for words.  It makes his heart clench where it’s attempting to beat out of his chest, and his head spins round and round in circles until the only thing he’s certain of his Harry.  

Harry kisses him as if he’s the only thing in the whole universe that he’s certain about, as if he’s the only thing that Harry could ever want, and it makes Eggsy ache.  He aches to be able to touch Harry whenever he wants, to kiss him whenever the whim comes, to see him as he pleases.  He aches to have innumerable lunches with the man, to watch him dote and spoil Daisy like he know he will, to have him stop by Persephone’s Garden every day on his way to his own shop just because he could.  

Eventually, Harry breaks the kiss with a tiny gasp, and Eggsy is wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck, hauling him forward to press his face into his neck, tears welling over at the corners of his eyes.  “I love you,” he murmurs against Harry’s travel-stale skin, peppering kisses wherever he can reach.  “I love you, ‘Arry, I really do.”

Harry just smiles as he holds his boy, trying to rub soothing circles into his back without jostling one of the many vital tubes that are somehow connected to Eggsy’s body.  “My dear boy,” he murmurs, turning his head to press a kiss to the side of Eggsy’s head.  “I love you too.  With all that I am.”

Just outside the door to Eggsy’s room, Roxy smirks to herself as she watches.  “Finally,” she murmurs, drawing the attention of a nearby nurse.  “Fucking finally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anemone - fading hope, a feeling of being forsaken.  
> Yellow Carnations - disdain, rejection, disappointment.  
> Daffodil, single - unrequited love; misfortune.  
> Peony - also bashfulness, shame.  
> Purple Rose - enchantment, love at first sight.  
> Forget-me-nots - true love; memories.  
> Gladiolus - strength of character; faithfulness and honor; remembrance.  
> Tulips - a declaration of love.  
> Daffodils, multiple - rebirth, new beginnings.


	9. A Bouquet for Daisy

A few days after Harry's return, Eggsy is finally released from the hospital.  His arm is still in a cast, and he has to continue wrapping his ribs, but he's cleared to return to work as long as he abides by some restrictions while he finishes healing.  No lifting over five kilograms, no reaching over his head, no strenuous activity, etc.  Eggsy grumbles when both Harry and Roxy insist he sits on a stool behind the counter, but ultimately acquiesces to their request.

It doesn’t take long for Eggsy to settle into a new normal.  Business at the shop flourishes as all their regular return at the news of Eggsy’s release from the hospital.  They take their time shopping in the store, pausing to linger at Eggsy’s counter to check up on him and wish him well with the remainder of his recovery.  

Harry starts showing up at Persephone’s Garden every day just before Eggsy’s lunch break with a pair of store bought lunches in his hands.  They slip to the back room, leaving Roxy to run the counter and eat lunch together.  Harry tells Eggsy about the art he’s working on for his customers, and Eggsy tells Harry about the flowers he’s growing.  Harry always cracks a joke, and Eggsy always laughs, drawing Roxy’s attention and presence in the doorway.  After a week and a half of listening to the two carry on like an old, married couple, Roxy gets fed up.

“Just go out on an actual date, already, for the love of god!” she exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air.  

Eggsy blushes furiously and Harry shrugs his shoulders, his expression perfectly calm and collected.  “We should, you know,” Harry says, casually pushing his noodles around is take-out container.

Eggsy snaps his head around to stare at Harry.  “What?” he whispers.

“Saturday night.  I’ll make arrangements,” Harry continues, the minute twitch of his fingers betraying his calm facade.  “That is, if you’re amenable, darling.”

“Y-yeah,” Eggsy stammers, smiling brightly at Harry.  “That sounds great.”

Their date goes well and Harry takes Eggsy to a well-reviewed restaurant and eventually end back to Harry’s to watch “My Fair Lady” while sprawled together across Harry’s couch.  When the film ends, Harry treats Eggsy to a nightcap and an anecdote about his tattoo apprenticeship.  He walks Eggsy home after their glasses are empty and kisses him goodnight repeatedly outside his apartment door, finally bidding him goodnight when Michelle opens the door and fixes Harry with a stern look.

Eventually, the cast on Eggsy’s arm comes off and the physical therapy begins.  His sessions are painful and time consuming, leaving him exhausted and sore at the end of every night.  Most of his dates with Harry become nights spent in, usually in Harry’s sitting room.  Eggsy makes dinner, Harry picks the wine, and they always was up the dishes together after they eat.  Occasionally, when Eggsy is particularly sore, Harry will rub the tension from his aching muscles.  Sometimes, Harry will light a fire and settle into his recliner while Eggsy reads aloud from one of the many classics filling Harry’s bookshelves.

The next three months that follow are the longest of Eggsy’s life.  It’s only after he’s considered fully recovered by his doctors that the police come knocking at his door, asking about Dean Baker and his involvement in Eggsy’s injuries.  What begins as a request for a simple restraining order snowballs into a laundry list of charges including assault, parental neglect, and possession of drugs with the intent to sell.  The trial date comes and goes, and Eggsy spends the better part of a week holed up in a courtroom while the jury and judge debate Dean’s future.  It’s a Friday morning when they come to a unanimous conclusion: a guilty verdict to all charges and a sentence for twenty-five years behind bars with no chance for parole.  Michelle gains full custody of Daisy, and in addition to losing his freedom, Dean loses any and all parental claims he’d ever have on his daughter.  The whole courtroom cheers along with Eggsy as the police drag a snarling, handcuffed Dean out, escorting him to his new home in a jail halfway across the country.

That afternoon, both Persephone’s Garden and Kingsman are closed as Harry and Eggsy laugh in Harry’s kitchen while they do their best to make the chocolate layered cake for that evening’s celebration.  The finished result is slightly lumpy and very uneven, but Daisy lights up when she sees the neon pink buttercream that’s swirled around the whole thing.  For the first time in their lives, Eggsy gets to watch as Daisy twirls around Harry’s small backyard, celebrating with globs of the pink frosting smeared all over her chubby cheeks, her eyes sparkling with joy.  She giggles and claps her hands when Harry scoops her up to wipe away the sticky, sugary mess, and Eggsy knows she finally feels weightless without Dean’s heavy, lingering shadow hanging over him.

People start leaving around nine-thirty, congratulating Michelle and Eggsy on their newfound freedom, and most of their guests have left by eleven.  As Michelle bends to pick up a sleeping Daisy, Harry turns to Eggsy, pulls him close, and asks him if he’d like to spend the night.  Smiling, he sees his mum and sister out, kissing them both, before returning to sink into Harry’s arms, sighing in relief as the house quiets around him.  After a few minutes, they go about doing the preliminary clean up, packing away left-overs and throwing away the rubbish.

When Eggsy starts to sway and lean against the wall to prevent himself from falling over, Harry herds him upstairs to his bedroom, pulls out an extra pair of pajamas for him, and sends him into the bathroom to change.  When Eggsy pads back into Harry’s room a few minutes later, he finds Harry already changed and reclining on the bed.  Eggsy joins him and Harry proceeds to kiss him until he’s convinced his bones have melted and the only coherent thought he has is Harry’s name.

He wakes the next morning to the smell of coffee, burnt bacon, and charcoaled toast.  By the time he makes his way into Harry’s kitchen, Harry is delightfully ruffled and attempting to put out a grease fire with a fire extinguisher while wearing nothing but an apron, his pants, and a pair of socks.  The laugh that bubbles up in Eggs’s throat morphs into a strangled moan as Harry runs a hand through his hair and turns to face him, the ink shifting under his skin as he moves.  

“Like what you see?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow as he smirks at his lover.

“God, Harry,” Eggsy breathes, stepping forward to slide his hands up Harry’s painted arms.  “How could I not?”

Harry’s cheeks pink up as Eggsy pauses to pluck at the apron’s strings, sending the garment fluttering to the floor.  He is silent as Eggsy’s hands glide firmly over his shoulders and down to his chest, the heels of his hands pressing against his muscles, his fingers digging into Harry’s supple flesh.

 A few months pass before Harry manages to convince Eggsy to take a holiday with him.  They leave Persephone’s Garden in Roxy’s capable hands, and Merlin nearly kicks Harry out of Kingsman, urging him to “just go already.”  They fly to America and Harry introduces Eggsy to everyone at Arthur’s, the tattoo shop he’d filled in Kay’s position nearly six months prior.  Kay greets them merrily, shaking their hands enthusiastically while Tristan all but throws himself at Harry in an attempt to smother him in a hug, nearly tackling him to the floor.  Harry is just able to right himself when Tristan sets eyes on Eggsy, and Harry starts to second guess his decision to come.  Much to Harry’s chagrin, Eggsy takes to Tristan like a house on fire.  After half an hour together, they act as if they’d known each other their entire lives.  

Harry and Eggsy spend most of their time at Kay’s shop with Harry filling in and taking on clients when the shop gets busy.  During their downtime, between pranks played on everyone by Tristan and Eggsy, artwork just shows up at Eggsy’s designated desk.  Various flower arrangements and caricatures of eggs are tacked all over the wall, and Eggsy smiles at them, reaching a hand out to gently touch the paper each time he passes by them.  The artwork slowly moves from the paper to his body, Tristan instantly taking a seat by his side every time Eggsy sits down, his arsenal of markers close at hand as he litters art over Eggsy’s arms and legs.  

On their last day, Harry is convinced to take a client, and Eggsy watches, transfixed, as harry brings a bouquet to life in stunning realism on a client’s leg.  His heart rate speeds up as he watches Harry take care of his client, cleaning up the blood and extra ink with gentle strokes and a soft cloth.  He speaks to them softly, explaining how to take care of the tattoo, murmuring compliments as he bandages their leg and sends them out the door with a smile.  

Harry begins to clean up his station when Eggsy stops him with a gentle touch to his forearm, his hand feather-light on his skin.  Eggsy bites his lip and looks at Harry through half-lidded eyes and asks if he’d be willing to give him one, too.  Fifteen minutes later, a determined Eggsy nearly hyperventilates as Harry turns his gun on him, inking a small, perfect daisy just above crease of his right arm.

Upon their arrival home, Daisy launches herself at her brother the moment she catches sight of him at the airport.  Eggsy catches her and tosses her in the air, grinning widely as she squeals with delight.  His mother sees the small tattoo right away, shooting him a knowing look.  Eggsy shrugs and makes a noncommittal gesture as Harry comes to stand by him, resting his hand comfortably on his lower back as he talks to Daisy and shows him the small flower.  

His sister seems utterly fascinated by the single “picture” decorating his arm, and he can’t help but laugh when Daisy turns to Harry, her warm, brown eyes wide as saucers to ask, “when will my pictures come?”  Michelle nearly faints.

It’s nearly ten months after his release from the hospital when Eggsy finally finds all of Harry’s sketchbooks.  He flips through them leisurely, taking his time as he’s entranced by page after page of art.  The more recent works are all made up of flowers, the blooms arranged in shapes and swirls, as if they belonged on a human body.  When Eggsy asks Harry about it, the older man blushes and stammers his way through a sentence of gibberish that neither of them can understand.  Eventually, it all makes sense to Eggsy, and the drawings of daisies and lilies and crocus blooms pop up all over the house.  They’re for you, Harry is saying with each stroke of his pencil.  They’re for you, and I will wait until you’re ready.

That night, when they go to bed after hours of watching films and reading poetry, Harry lets Eggsy explore his body to his heart’s content, telling him about all of the tattoos that live under his skin.  He tells him about the first one he’d ever received; a celebratory piece that was outlined at the beginning of his apprenticeship and colored upon his completion.  There, wrapped around his left arm, just above the crease of his elbow, is the fabled Lady of the Lake.  Her hand is reaching upwards from a rippling surface of water, the legendary sword Excalibur clutched tightly in her grasp.  

The blues and greys and whites of the water seem to shift as Harry moves his arm.  The sword, done in so many different shades of greys and yellows, looks so realistic, Eggsy is sure that he will cut his fingers when he runs them down the edge of the blade.  Slowly, his fingers drag down, over the name engraved just above the hilt, over the various rubies and sapphires that twinkle temptingly at him, over the grip and guards that shield the inked hand from any attacking force.  

Harry falls silent as Eggsy’s hands stroke lower, trailing over the steely-blue anchor that pierces a realistic, slightly bloody heart on his forearm.  his fingertips brush teasingly over the two traditional red roses that skirt the edges.  “It was a tribute piece,” Harry murmurs, bringing the digits of his right hand up to trace fondly at the outline, follows Eggsy’s previous strokes.  “For my parents when they passed.”

They are quiet for a heavy moment as Eggsy bends to press a kiss to the mangled heart.  Then, Harry is talking again, telling stories about the floral sleeve that winds from just above his right wrist, all the way up to his shoulder.  About the realistic black and white angel wings that fold down over most of his back; about the tiny Kingsman symbol on the side of his left wrist that he shares will all the others that work at his shop; about the dark words that scroll artfully across his hipbone proclaiming to the world that “Manners Maketh Man.”  Harry falls asleep that night to Eggsy’s gentle touch as he traces the tip of a finger over each solid, black line of Harry’s tattoos.  He wakes again when Eggsy repeats the process again, this time tracing over the lines with his tongue.

Over the next two months, Eggsy spends more and more time at Persephone’s Garden.  New display bouquets appear in their windows every third day.  Roxy doesn’t hesitate to scold him often about the “excessive waste” he’s created, but she shuts up when the bouquets start selling like hotcakes, disappearing from their window mere hours after being assembled.  Eventually, Eggsy schedules a day off, calls down to Kingsman, and sets up an appointment with Harry through Merlin.  

A few days later, Eggsy makes his way to Harry’s shop with a bouquet of flowers.  He greets Merlin with his customary cheeky wink, receiving a single, arched eyebrow in response before he disappears to summon Harry.  The older man smiles warmly when he catches sight of his lover waiting by the desk, and makes a muffled sound of embarrassment when Eggsy rises up on his tiptoes to greet him with a very thorough kiss.

“What are you doing here, darling?” Harry asks when Eggsy pulls away from him.  

Eggsy stuffs his hands nonchalantly into his pockets and winks at him.  “I’m here for an appointment,” he replies.  

Harry blinks owlishly at him.  “An appointment?” Harry asks, tilting his head slightly to the side.  “Whatever for?”

Eggsy rolls his eyes and gestures around the shop.  “Oh, I dunno.  What does a bloke come to this shop for anyways?” he asks.

Harry stares at him in disbelief, his mouth falling opening just a hair.   

“I’m here for an appointment, Harry.  With you.  I even brought some reference flower because I know how much you like to have them,” Eggsy continues, lifting up the ribbon-tied vase.  “Unless you don’t want it.  Then I suppose Merlin could help me out…”

“No,” Harry cuts in, stepping forward to take the vase from Eggsy.  “You’re my appointment, and I need to take care of you.  Follow me back and we can talk about what you want.”

Eggsy follows Harry back to his office and makes himself comfortable.  They talk for a while about the flowers in the bouquet as Harry sketches out a half sleeve filled with greenery and the blooms Eggsy has brought.  

“What made you finally take the plunge?” Harry asks as the stencil is printing.  “A single daisy on your arm is quick to do and easy to heal.  A piece of this size, however, is not.”

Eggsy nods to himself as Harry smooths the transfer on, his fingers precise with the amount of pressure needed.  “It’s a tribute,” Eggsy says as Harry pulls the flimsy paper back, leaving a spider’s web of blue lines on Eggsy’s skin.  “For Daisy.”

“I see,” Harry murmurs, patting Eggsy’s other shoulder.  “I think the placement is good.  Why don’t you go check it out in the mirror?”

Eggsy nods solemnly and rises from his chair to go check the placement in Harry’s floor-length mirror.  After a long moment of scrutiny, Eggsy returns and plops himself in Harry’s lap, kisses him sweetly, and then tells him he wants a bit of blank space on his inner arm.  Mildly confused, Harry complies and wipes away a particularly large bunch of bouvardia double before readying his station and beginning.

The first stroke of the tattoo gun is a small, curved line at the top of Eggsy’s shoulder.  Predictably, Eggsy jumps, and Harry rests a glove-covered hand reassuringly on his forearm as he relaxes.  When the tension seeps from Eggsy’s shoulders, Harry starts again, working his way through the outline as swiftly and cleanly as he can.  

Two hours in, and Eggsy is gritting his teeth.  “What are you using to pack color in there, ‘Arry?” he asks, his voice tight.

Harry looks up from his work, turns to dip the head of the tattoo gun into a medium-toned green, and continues going.  “I’m using a shader head,” Harry replies, working the green into Eggsy’s skin.  “Why do you ask?”

“Because shaders fucking suck,” Eggsy spits, hissing painfully through his teeth.  

Harry chuckles and pauses to press a kiss to the side of his lover’s neck.  “I’m so sorry for hurting you, darling,” he murmurs, wiping away excess ink and blood from his arm.  “But you did ask me to do this.  Do you need me to stop?”

Eggsy cringes at the slight burn of the paper towel.  “Nah.  Best you finish this up in one go.  Chances are, if you let me up out of this chair, you’ll never get me back in it,” he replies, his breath catching as Harry starts back in over some lighter green he’d already laid.  “Oh, fuck me, that bleeding stings.”

“Oh, my dear boy,” Harry whispers huskily, a chuckle rumbling low in his throat.  “I’d be happy to fuck you.  But I do think we ought to wait until I’m finished with this.”

Eggsy’s cheeks blaze at Harry’s comment, and he falls silent until Harry pauses to clean the green from his tattoo gun.  “Are you going to tell me about these flowers, love?” he asks, pushing the small caps of various greens and greys away to bring the whites, creams, and pinks within reach.  

“What do you wanna know about them?” Eggsy asks, tensing up again as Harry works color into one of the vibrant gerbera daisies placed around his arm.  

“Everything you wish to tell me,” Harry replies.  “What they mean, and why you’ve chosen to have them permanently ingrained into your body.”

Eggsy looks down at his arm and watches as Harry works.  “Well, the one you’re shading in now,” he pauses to release a litany of curses as Harry tattoos over a particularly sensitive spot, “is called a gerbera daisy.  It stands for cheerfulness.  I’m getting it because I always want Daisy to be as cheerful as she’s been these last few months now that Dean’s gone and all.”

“And these?” Harry says, moving on to press a dark pink into the center of each, tiny blossom in a large bunch.  “I can’t say I’ve ever seen these before.”

Eggsy takes a measured breath.  “Those are called ‘Bouvardia double’,” he explains.  “They can stand for enthusiasm, or a zest for life.  As for why I’m getting ‘em, well, it’s like before.  I want Daisy to always be enthusiastic about living and the life she has.”  

As he continues, Harry asks more questions as he gets to each new bloom.  He learns that the white daisies he inks stand for more than Eggsy’s sister’s name, but also for a loyal love unlike any other.  The lilies of the valley are for her pure heart and inherent sweet nature.  The baby’s breath recalls his sister’s innocence, her outlook on life still pure despite all the darkness Dean brought.  

The flowers speak to him as he goes about putting the final touches on everything after a grueling sixteen hour session.  Eggsy had done so well, but eventually had clammed up around the nine hour mark, sitting the rest of the time in silence.  The flowers tell Harry just how deep Eggsy’s love runs, and, to Harry, the thought and the feelings behind the tattoo are more beautiful than the work itself.  Harry takes his time cleaning up his lover, making sure to use gentle, soothing strokes as he works away the remainder of the excess ink and blood.  He carefully bandages up Eggsy’s arm and gingerly tapes the cellophane to his un-inked skin, frowning when an exhausted groan wheezes from Eggsy’s parched throat.  

“Come on, love,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he helps him out of the chair.  “Let’s get you home where I can take care of you properly.”  

Eggsy smiles sleepily up at him and leans heavily against his side as Harry guides him back to his apartment.  Carefully, Harry readies him for bed and tucks him in, settling beside him just as he’s starting to fade from consciousness into dreamland.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bouvardia Double- enthusiasm; a zest for life.  
> Daisy- innocence, purity, loyal love  
> Gerbera Daisy- cheerfulness  
> Lily of the valley- sweetness, purity of heart  
> Baby’s Breath - everlasting love, pureness, innocence
> 
> Thanks again for reading! As you can tell, I (accidentally!) lied about there being one more chapter left. While going through and editing this chapter, I noticed that it was just getting too large, so I'm cutting it in two. I'm not quite sure how long the last bit will be; it may be tiny compared to this, but look out for that within the next week, and then it'll be on to the next one!
> 
> Speaking of the next one, I'm not quite sure what's going to pop out, and I'd love to hear your suggestions, my dear readers, if you have any. Anyways, I sincerely hope you've enjoyed this, and I'll see you in the next chapter!


	10. A Bouquet for the Seasons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, the title is different. When I started this, I just needed a title that would sorta fit, but now that it's done, it needed something that suited the story better. All of the other chapters are still the same; the only thing that has changed is the title! Hope you enjoy!

A few weeks later, Eggsy’s tattoo is finally healed enough for Harry to coerce him back into his chair for touch-ups.  Eggsy grumbles through the two-hour session, and when Harry declares him finished, he all but jumps up in relief.  Harry watches him intently as he gingerly shrugs on his jacket and putters around the room.

“Darling, do you have somewhere you need to be?” Harry asks, throwing away his gloves.  

“Mum asked me to pick up Daisy from school.  You gonna be okay if I dash?”

“Of course, love,” Harry replies, crossing the room to brush a kiss to Eggsy’s forehead.  “Shall I stop by your mother's home before I leave for Scotland?  I want so terribly to be able to kiss you goodbye”

Eggsy smiles up at him.  “If you want.  Not sure if we’ll be home.  Call me first?”

“Of course,” Harry says, watching as Eggsy walks out his door.  “Until later, my dear boy.”

“Later, Harry,” Eggsy calls just before the door clicks shut behind him.  

With a sigh, Harry leans back against his counter and rubs at his face.  After a long moment, he resumes cleaning up his station and packing his kit away for the plane ride later.  He doesn’t get a chance to see Eggsy again before he heads out, begrudgingly, to the airport.  He does, however, receive a call from Merlin who is attempting to handle a problem single-handedly at the shop.  As he sinks into his stiff, cramped seat beside a man who desperately needs a wash, Harry grouses to himself about how much he doesn’t want to go.

Three days after Harry leaves for his two week stint in Edinburgh, Eggsy makes his way to Kingsman, a very nice bottle of scotch in his hands.  The door chimes as he enters, and the semi-pleasant expression on Merlin’s face fades as he sees Eggsy standing at the edge of his desk.

“Harry isn’t here,” he grumbles, “as I’m sure you know.”

“I know Harry ain’t here,” Eggsy says, setting the bottle of scotch down on the counter, the liquid inside sloshing as it moves around.  “I came here to see you.”

Merlin quirks an eyebrow at him, his forehead creasing in confusion.  “And why are you here to see me?” he asks.

“Because I need to hide a body,” Eggsy deadpans, rolling his eyes.  

The corner of Merlin’s mouth quirks up in amusement.

“All joking aside, I’m here for a tattoo,” Eggsy says.

Merlin continues to stare at him in disbelief.

“Just let me explain, yeah?” Eggsy asks, leaning forward against the counter.  “Harry told me a while ago that you’re the one who did his crocus flower.  Just ‘ere on his arm,” he says, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt with a hiss.  He taps carefully at the empty stretch of skin Harry had left blank at his request.  

Merlin frowns, but nods and gestures for him to continue.

“Well, I want you to give me one,” Eggsy says, digging a wrinkled, folded piece of paper from his pocket to offer to Merlin.  “Along with one of these.  It’s a surprise of sorts; I want it to be all healed up when he comes back.”

Merlin accepts the paper and looks over it.  There are a few slightly blurry photos of Harry’s crocus tattoo along with a flower that looks like a cross between a red rose and a hibiscus.  “I think I can do this for you,” Merlin says, reaching forward to pick up the bottle of scotch.  “Follow me back to my office; I’ll sketch something up for you while we have a drink.”

“Sure, sure,” Eggsy says, straightening up to follow Merlin as he turns and makes his way to his workspace.  On the way, he bangs the side of his hip against the edge of the counter and mumbles his way through a litany of colorful curses that would have his mother reaching for a bar of soap.

The door to Merlin’s office shuts quietly behind him.  As Eggsy turns to take in the room, he watches Merlin as he pulls a pair of glass tumblers from a drawer in his desk.  He sets them on the smooth, wooden surface and pours a generous two fingers of the scotch in each one.

“You drink with your clients often?” Eggsy asks, hesitantly accepting the offered glass.  “I thought alcohol and tattoos didn’t mix too well.”

“They don’t,” Merlin replies, taking a slow sip from his glass.  “Usually I drink with Harry when we’re about to do work on each other.”  Merlin pauses and takes another look at the reference pictures Eggsy had brought.  “For being such an amazing artist, Harry is notoriously difficult to tattoo.  He sits much better when he’s a little bit drunk; says it doesn’t hurt as much.”

“So’s that what you’re doing to me?” Eggsy asks, lowering his glass with a frown.  “Tryin’ to get me drunk so I’ll sit better for you?”

Merlin sighs and contemplates his glass for a moment before raising it to his mouth and tossing back the drink  with a smooth swallow.  “I’m afraid I need the drink just as much as you do, Eggsy,” he admits, sinking down into the chair at his desk.  “Harry is a very jealous, possessive man.  He will not take kindly to the fact that I have left a permanent mark on you.  At least, not at first,” he continues, turning to his sketch book.  

“Okay,” Eggsy says, nodding to himself as Merlin begins to draw.  “So you need the drink to convince you to follow through with the tattoo, yeah?  That doesn’t explain why I need one.”

Merlin nods minutely, the only indication that he has heard Eggsy’s words.  “Your arm is still healing, Eggsy.  It’s going to be much more sensitive than usual because of the increased blood flow.”

“So?” Eggsy asks, his chest puffing slightly.  “I can take it, bruv.  I ain’t no wimp.”

Merlin rolls his eyes as he turns his paper.  “I don’t doubt that, Eggsy,” he drawls.  “Regardless, the liquor will help somewhat.  Trust me, when I start in with the shaders Harry tells me you’re so fond of, you’ll want a whole glass.”

Eggsy sighs and raises his glass to his lips.  “If you say so, Merlin,” he murmurs, nursing at the amber colored liquor.  “You’re the profession here, bruv.”

The room falls into comfortable silence, the only noise coming from the scratching of Merlin’s pencil as he draws.  After a few minutes, he nods decisively and rises, handing the sketch to Eggsy.  “I still have the original drawing of Harry’s crocus flower,” he says, crossing his arms when the sketch pad leaves his hands.  “So if you like this, we can start whenever you’re ready.”

Eggsy only needs a glance to know that Merlin’s sketch is perfect.  “Let’s get going then, Merlin,” he says, rolling the sleeve of his shirt up.  “The sooner we start, the sooner it’ll heal.”

Chuckling softly to himself, Merlin goes about making transfers, placing the stencils, and setting up his station for work.  He pours color after color into a multitude of small inkwells, lining them up in a warm gradient on his large work tray.  “Have a seat, Eggsy,” Merlin instructs, pulling out a couple packages of sterile needles.

With a shaky sigh, Eggsy leans back in Merlin’s chair, resting his arm on the extended arm rest.  Merlin’s hands are cold and steady as they prepare his skin for the new tattoos, clever fingers keeping his touch light as he applies the transfer.  Closing his eyes, Eggsy focuses on controlling his breathing and the coolness of Merlin’s touch.

“Do you need to check the placement?” Merlin asks evenly, leaning back to give Eggsy some space.

Turning his head, Eggsy takes a cursory glance at the stencil, a small grin spreading over his mouth as he realizes that his crocus flower is in the exact same spot as Harry’s.  “Lookin’ good, Merlin,” he says, closing his eyes once more.  “Let’s do this.”

Merlin laughs under his breath, wraps his left hand around Eggsy’s inkless forearm, and lays down the first line causing Eggsy to groan pitifully, his eyebrows furrowing in discomfort.  Try as he might, Merlin can’t fight the grin that spreads across his mouth.  “Would you like another glass of scotch now?” he asks, slowly laying down the next line.  

“Can I have the whole bottle?” Eggsy bites out between clenched teeth.

“Absolutely not,” Merlin replies, lowering his head to get a closer look at Eggsy’s arm.  

Eggsy groans and squeezes his eyes shut again.  “Bloody fuckin’ hell,” he murmurs, hs breath tight in his chest.  “What have I gotten myself in to?”

Merlin just chuckles and continues on with his work, doing his best to lay the lines and color solidly and quickly.  An hour later, he all but scrapes Eggsy of of his chair after cleaning and bandaging him up.  “You know the drill,” he says, pushing Eggsy gently towards the front door.  “Get some good rest, and for the love of all things holy in Scotland, no more tattoos until you’re fully healed.”

Still shaky on his feet, Eggsy precariously teeters back to Harry’s house.  He locks the door behind him, trudges up the stairs, and shucks his trousers before crawling under the thick comforter on Harry’s bed.  He falls asleep that night, sprawled across Harry’s spare pillow, his nose buried into the plush softness, every breath filling his senses with Harry’s scent.

Harry discovers the tattoo four days after his return from Scotland, a sliver of red peeking out from the edge of Eggsy’s sleeve as he shifts in bed.  His breath catches as he leans over and carefully pushes the sleeve of Eggsy’s sleeve up, uncovering the pair of blossoms.  He absentmindedly strokes over the tattoo as Eggsy slowly wakes, peppering kisses along his jaw.  “What do they mean, love?” Harry asks breathlessly, his eyes glued to the unfamiliar body of the red camellia.

“They’re us, ‘Arry,” Eggsy mumbles, his words heavy in his mouth with sleep.  “The crocus is me, and the red one’s you.  ‘Cause you’re a flame in me ‘eart.”

Not quite knowing what to say, Harry settles back in beside his lover, presses a lingering kiss to the back of his neck, and drifts back to sleep.  They’re rudely woken later to Roxy pounding at the door, demanding Eggsy come down to the shop before she loses her mind.  Chuckling, Eggsy rushes through his morning routine and slips out Harry’s front door not ten minutes later, hastily tucking one of Harry’s button down shirts into his jeans.

It’s a few hours later when Harry wanders into Persephone’s Garden, lunch in hand, and pleased smile on his face.  Eggsy herds him into the back stockroom, much to the horror and barely concealed abhorrence of his least favorite regular, Mrs. Milverton.  They settle down to eat, and Roxy peeks back a few minutes later when, in a state of shock and disbelief, Eggsy manages to bite his tongue and choke on his egg-salad sandwich at the same time.

“Are you two okay back here?” Roxy asks, raising an eyebrow at the pair.

“We’re perfectly fine,” Harry replies, fixing Roxy with one of his most charming smiles.  “I’ve simply asked Eggsy to move in with me.”

Roxy squeaks and drops Mrs. Milverton’s order, the vase shattering into hundreds of glass shards as the flowers scatter everywhere.  “You did what?” she exclaims.

Eggsy stares wide-eyed for a moment at Roxy, taking in the shocked look on her face.  Then, a shy smile cuts across his lips, followed by a rosy blush.  “He asked me to move in with ‘im,” he repeats, snickering at the truly perplexed look marring Roxy’s face.  “And I’m saying yes.”

“You are?” Harry asks, blinking owlishly across the table at him.

“About bloody time,” Roxy says, a sly smile spreading across her face.

Eggsy blushes and nods.  “Yeah, why not?” he replies, shooting his lover a pleased grin as he reaches across the table to lace their fingers together.  “It just makes sense, yeah?  I’m over there enough as it is, and I spend more nights in Harry’s bed than I do my own.  In case neither of you had noticed, I’m rather gone on this one,” he finishes, squeezing Harry’s hand.

Harry’s cheeks pink up ever so slightly as he leans across the table to kiss Eggsy, pulling away hastily when a startled shriek from the doorway makes him jump.

Whipping his head to see where the noise came from, Eggsy jaw drops as his gaze settles on Mrs. Milverton’s disgusted form standing stiffly in the doorway.

“My flowers!” Mrs. Milverton screeches, glaring at the three of them.  “You heathens have ruined my flowers!”

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Milverton,” Roxy says, attempting to soothe the old hag.  “I was just a bit surprised-”

The rest of Roxy’s words are lost as Mrs. Milverton harrumphs loudly and storms out of the shop spouting insults to anyone who will listen.  In the back stockroom, Harry, Eggsy, and Roxy look at each other for a long moment before bursting out in laughter.  Eggsy cheers the loss of his stuffies regular, and Harry finds him so beautiful that he cannot refrain from pulling Eggsy into his lap, kissing him breathless as they celebrate.

Four years after their first meeting, Harry and Eggsy marry in the early fall.  Their reception is filled with laughter and warmth and more flowers than they know what to do with.  Roxy spends most of the night sharing secretive glances with Merlin, and Daisy wants to dance every song mashed between her brother and his husband.  As the clock strikes midnight, Eggsy and Harry bid everyone farewell and drive off, the words Just Married written across the back windshield in chalk paint.

The hotel they arrive at is upscale.  Harry checks them in while Eggsy loads all of their bags onto a luggage cart.  When they make it up to their room, Eggsy wastes no time in poking around, running his fingers over the fluffy matching robes inside the closet, the bottle of champagne resting in ice on the small table, over the soft pillows that are stacked at the head of the bed.  

Harry takes his time unpacking one of his bags, pulling out his smallest tattoo gun and a minimal amount of supplies.  “Would you pop the champagne, darling?” he calls to Eggsy, smiling fondly at him as he sets up.  “I’m almost ready for you.”

With a happy grin, Eggsy pops the champagne, pours both of them a glass, and settles down into a chair near Harry.  That night, Harry and Eggsy give each other small, matching tattoos: tiny infinity symbols wrapping around their left ring fingers, the image petite enough to be hidden under their wedding rings, but substantial enough to be easily recognisable without.  Out of all of Harry’s tattoos, that one becomes his favorite.

It takes Eggsy the better part of a decade to finish adding tattoos to his right arm.  He picks up odds and ends from various artists Harry has worked with over the years, the ending collage a very beautiful and meaningful tribute to all of his loved ones.  By the time Eggsy’s tattoo sleeve is finished, Daisy is just old enough for her first session in Harry’s chair.

She picks something relatively simple for her first tattoo; a crocus and a daisy on the top of her foot.  Harry warns her about the placement and the pain associated with it, but Daisy is not to be deterred.  So she sits deathly still in Harry’s chair, Eggsy’s hand clenched tightly in her own, as his lover carefully works in the various lines and swirls of color.  Not long after the tattoo heals, Daisy skips back to University, and Eggsy and Harry find themselves with more free time than they know what to do with.

Eggsy comes home from Persephone’s Garden a month later to find Harry sitting on the floor in the entry way with a small, wiggling bundle cradled precariously in his arms.  His breath catches uncomfortable in his throat as he stares for a long moment, watching as the bundle moves around too much to be healthy.  “That better not be a baby, ‘Arry,” he whispers, his voice tight in his throat.

Harry smiles sheepishly up at him.  “It’s a baby of sorts,” he admits, leaning back against the wall.  “I found him on the side of the road in a soggy cardboard box; I couldn’t just leave him there.”

“Him?” Eggsy asks, his eyes zeroing in on the top of the bundle, watching curiously as the blanket starts to slip.  “We have an ‘im?”

“Eggsy, why don’t you come here and meet Mister Pickle,” Harry says, pulling the blanket away from a very furry, very tiny head.  

Slowly, Eggsy sinks down against the wall beside Harry, his gaze glued to the small animal writhing about in Harry’s arms.  “Bloody hell, it’s a dog,” he breathes, snapping his gaze to Harry’s face.  “We have a dog, and you named him Mister Pickle.”

Harry smiles weakly at him.  “I happen to believe that Mister Pickle is a fine name,” Harry says, gently stroking the puppy’s head.  “But if you’re so against it, you can name the next one.”

Eggsy splutters at the mention of the “next one”, but sure enough, six months after Mister Pickle has settled into their home and wormed his way into their hearts, Eggsy comes home with a wrinkled pug with slightly crossed eyes.  Eggsy and Harry debate names for the dog for the better part of a week, but it is only after he leaves for a week long business trip that Eggsy finally decides on a name.  He spends the better part of his evenings without Harry curled up on their couch watching older spy films with the dogs.  While Mister Pickle is only concerned about how often Eggsy scratches behind his ears, the pug keeps jumping off the couch, waddling up to sit right in front of the tv, his bulbous eyes glued to the screen.  After the third consecutive movie, Eggsy snaps a picture and sends it to Harry, proclaiming that the wheezing pug’s name is official Jack Bauer, but they can call him JB.  When Harry calls him some fifteen minutes later, Eggsy puts the call on speaker, and the sound of Harry’s laughter is enough to get the dogs barking.  As Eggsy attempts to calm them both down, he can’t help but laugh, too.

When Harry approaches his sixtieth birthday, he announces that he is taking on an apprentice to inherit his shop after his and Merlin’s impending retirement.  In the summer of that year, Persephone’s Garden opens it’s second location, and Daisy returns home, with a shiny, new degree in Botany, to run the second location.  To say that the second opening is a success is a horrific understatement, and by the time they’ve been open a year, the shop is completely paid off and Eggsy authorises the plans for the construction of a large greenhouse, not quite an hours drive out of London.  A small cottage ends up being built beside the greenhouse, and upon it’s completion, Eggsy wastes no time in handing the keys of the original Persephone’s Garden to Roxy.  In the spring, Harry and Eggsy move out to the country with their dogs and plants, and Harry takes up writing.

They grow old together, in the country cottage that always seems to smell of lilacs in the summer.  Daisy and Michelle visit often, and when Daisy eventually marries and has children, they always love running through the aisles in Eggsy’s greenhouse, the dogs yipping at their heels as they give chase.  Harry and Eggsy tell their nieces and nephews about the pictures under their skin.  In the summer when Sarah, Daisy’s oldest daughter turns nine, she asks about how Harry and Eggsy first met.

“Well, my dear,” Harry murmurs, tucking her into bed with a fond smile.  “We met at your Aunt Roxy’s flower shop.”

She looks back and forth between Harry and Eggsy with wide eyes.  “Uncle Egg’y, is that true?” she asks, her voice solemn with awe.

Eggsy chuckles and bends to drop a kiss to her forehead.  “That’s right.  Your Uncle Harry came in asking for some flowers that made no sense when they was put together!” he replies, his eyes crinkling as he turns to smile brightly at his husband.

Sarah looks as if she’d been offended.  “You mean Uncle ‘Arry didn’t know about flower meanin’s and such?” she whispers.

Harry’s cheeks color ever so slightly.  “I’m afraid not, little one,” he admits, raising a hand to gently stroke her hair from her face.  “Your Uncle Eggsy had to teach me, just like he taught you.”

Sarah laughs and beams at them.  “But Uncle Harry, I’m still a kid.  I’ve had an excuse for not knowing all the meanin’s,” she giggles, her small hands reaching out to latch around Harry’s bigger ones.  

Harry smiles at her fondly.  “You’ve also been surrounded by flowers from a very young age,” he comments, raising her hands to kiss the backs of her knuckles.  “And you have a very knowledgeable family that is passionate about passing on that knowledge to you.”

Sarah’s yawns and rolls over on her side, facing her uncles.  “Will you tell me the story, Uncle Egg’y?” she mumbles, her eyelids drooping as she speaks.  “I wanna know what the flowers said.”

“Well,” Eggsy begins, smiling fondly at Harry as he remembers, “The first time your Uncle Harry walked into my shop, he asked me for geraniums, purple roses, cherry blossoms, and yellow lilies,” he pauses when Sarah makes a face and allows himself to laugh.  “I know, sweets.  Awful, innit?  But anyways, by the time I got to the yellow lilies, I was so confused.  I didn’t know who this man was, or what he wanted, but I hoped he’d at least let me teach him how to speak using flowers instead of words…”  

By the end of the story, Sarah is sound asleep and Harry is not far behind.  Ushering his husband from the room, Eggsy guides him to their bedroom on the ground floor.  “Do you remember that day?” he asks, shrugging off his robe before crawling into bed with a sigh.

“Of course I remember that day,” Harry replies, laying down beside him, a serene smile on his face.  “I could never forget meeting you if I tried.”

Eggsy watches as Harry falls asleep next to him, his face going lax in the moonlight as he dreams.  The house is mostly quiet around him, the only sounds coming from Harry as he snores softly beside him and JB as he kicks at the sheets in his sleep.  “I’m walking on air,” he whispers to no one in particular as he pulls the duvet up to his chin, a sleepy grin turning up the corners of his mouth.  “Yeah,” he murmurs, closing his eyes.  “Definitely walking on air.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh. I can't believe we're finally here after so long. First, I'd like to thank my beta, L, for being the most patient person I have ever had the good fortune to meet. You have prompted me to write when I didn't think I could, and told me it was okay to take breaks when life got too crazy and I needed them. You are a treasure, and I'm so thankful that you're my friend.
> 
> Second, I'd like to apologize to all of you, dear readers, for the unexplained, unplanned, haitus of epic proportions. I was on such a good roll and then *bam!* writers' block and real life happened. I'm glad it's over.
> 
> Third, I'd like to thank everyone who has taken time out of their day to read, comment, and leave kudos to this work. I've been so overwhelmed with positive responses to this, and that has made the journey a thousand and one times more enjoyable. I hope that you have all enjoyed this work, and that it has made all of you smile at least once. It's been a fun journey, and I'm so grateful that you've all chosen to come along for the ride!

**Author's Note:**

> I got my flower meanings from a few, different websites. I'll always post a brief description of what each one means in the end notes, so look for them here!
> 
> Geranium- stupidity, folly  
> Purple Rose- enchantment, love at first sight  
> Cherry Blossom- fragility of human life  
> Yellow Lily- I’m walking on air


End file.
